Matador Network's Blog, page 2230

20 portraits from the Caribbean

Editor’s note: I first came across Daniel Chafer’s work at MatadorU’s travel photography program, and was immediately captivated by his imagery of water.

Daniel has been living at sea for more than six years, giving him next-level access to surf spots and beaches across the Caribbean and Mediterranean. Below is a collection of some of his shots that I most responded to.




1

Sandy cay

On a day trip out to a sandy cay in the British Virgin Islands, I felt I couldn't capture what I saw through my lens. The island is full of palms and crystal-clear water with a combination of sand and reef. We all swam ashore, and for the next few hours we started to explore, only to find a fairy-tale bush track that covered the island. We tried to camp on the island that night, but a national park ranger told us to move on.

2

Cane Garden

I hadn't been camping for a while and wanted to find a location where we could watch the sunset over the campsite. We'd just managed to surf the right spot at the right time—a rarely breaking right point called Cane Garden Bay. We heard of a bay just north of Cane Garden, so we decided to navigate our way around the back roads to find it.

3

Sharing stoke

I asked this local man, Tafari, if he'd heard of the bay north of Cane Garden. He told me he'd take us if we didn't tell any travelers of this spot. We got to the top of the road and looked out to the ocean, only to see the kingdom of heaven. Tafari asked if we had anything to drink. All we had was warm orange juice, so we gave it to him.

Intermission




4
11 portraits that reveal the real faces of the homeless
by Joshua Thaisen



3
16 images of life on the streets in LA
by Joshua Thaisen



3
10 experiences you can only have in the Guianas
by Karin-Marijke Vis












4

Beachcombing

The island of St. Thomas is home to many reef breaks, and in the US Virgin Islands the picturesque little beaches are covered with driftwood, coral, and colorful shells. Early one morning I checked the surf report to find the swell was up, so I drove to Hull Bay to find a perfect 3ft wave. On my paddle back to the beach I found a pile of beautiful shells and couldn't just walk away without creating something.

5

Navigating the sea

After doing loads of research on different islands to explore in the Caribbean, we figured if we penciled an outline to our journey we wouldn't mind being lost as long as we knew we were heading south to St. Lucia. Sailing the Caribbean is a lifestyle; you have the luxury to choose what private seashore you're anchored in, or find a beach with nobody around.

6

Tortola

This is my good friend Tommy. As we had a few hours left before we had to catch the ferry back to St. Martin, he was taking a few snapshots of the local kids playing in the sand. I climbed the closest sand dune and stole his focus away for just a few moments to get this snap.

7

Looking into a fish tank

The surf was small, so we decided to snorkel at a beautiful beach on the French side of St. Martin (Baie de Grand Case). The weather was so calm and tranquil that morning it felt like we were swimming in a fish tank. My girlfriend, Jessica, dove into the vibrant blue waters as I watched in amazement the way the water was reflecting off her pale skin.

8

Choppy ferry ride

As we jumped on the ferry that afternoon, we could see the wind was picking up and knew the seas would get a little choppy for our hour-and-a-half boat ride back from Tortola to St. Thomas. Fortunately enough, I could handle the rough waves, unlike most of the passengers, who were tended to by staff busily running around with paper bags and telling everyone to look out the windows into the horizon to feel better.

9

Tropical pigs

The Bahamas are an island nation consisting of more than 700 islands, cays, and islets. One district called Exuma has the clearest waters you'll see on Earth. Big Major Cay in Exuma is populated by pigs, which, as legend has it, are descendants of survivors of a shipwreck. Now the pigs are a tourist attraction to many travelers who visit the Bahamas every year.

Despite all the talk I'd heard from the locals, I still wasn't too sure if these pigs would actually swim. But one morning we took a tender over, got settled right close to the sand, and, after waiting 10 minutes, to my amazement three pigs came stomping out behind the bushes, crashing their way into the water. I jumped overboard with a handful of lettuce and my camera. These pigs were so quick. Before I knew it they were fogging up my lens with their huge snouts.

Intermission




1
31 portraits of people sharing their greatest insecurities
by Katie Scott Aiton



5
15 images that changed my perception of Vietnam
by Colm FitzGerald



8
Notes from a photographer in Varanasi, India
by Andrés Vanegas Canosa












10

Rain drops

My friend Reece and I paddled out at Botany Bay on St. Thomas, hoping to get some shots of us surfing. But my attention was drawn to the substantial rain that struck the surface with great force. I lost myself for a few minutes, staring into the ocean, until the rain actually started stinging. I held my underwater housing over my head to try to get some shelter.

11

Rowing is a sport for dreamers

This beautiful rustic boat was sitting by the shore in St. Lucia. Her name was "AUDREY LOU." The owner was standing next to her just lying back on his chair. As I stood close to him he began to tell me a few stories of the adventures he'd had with her. I asked him why he didn't buy a boat with an engine. He looked at me and burst out laughing, saying, "This keeps me happy; rowing is a sport for dreamers."

12

Simple pleasures

Most in the Caribbean don't have much but still seem to be always smiling. I was driving to the beach after work and saw this boy (Ricky) selling fruit at his mum's store. I pulled over and bought lots of fresh fruit from the family, then asked his mum if I could buy him a juice. His face lit up, and within seconds he'd drunk the whole bottle.

13

Playful dolphins

A day you could only dream of in St. Thomas: We set sail on our Atlantic crossing en route to Barcelona. The sun was setting, so I decided to go sit on the bow of the boat with my head resting on the edge, capturing some moments with the water and the sunshine. To my amazement three dolphins appeared. The dolphins were getting pushed by the boat, due to the low pressure system the boat's bow creates. They were piercing the water without a splash. I couldn't help but stare and be drawn into the expression of these creatures. They would whistle out of their blowholes like they were trying to tell us something, I always thought they were trying to tell us there was rough weather ahead.

14

Sunsets never get old

Land was seen on the horizon for the first time in two weeks, crossing from the vivid blues of the Caribbean to the cultural whirlwind of the Mediterranean. We were lucky enough to experience unusually calm seas for the 14-day voyage. Our flag had been twisted around the pole from the strong winds earlier that day, so Ian climbed over the rails to unravel the flag from its tangled mess. As he turned around there was a pod of whales ahead of us, playing on the surface while the sun was about to go under the horizon.

15

Summer all year 'round

The beach of Coki Bay, St. Thomas, is surrounded by calm, clear waters and a white sandy bottom. It fills up with beautiful reef fish and is a perfect spot to snorkel. I asked the locals for some dog biscuits, and as I dove into the water my biscuit started to crumble into a thousand pieces, the reef fish wiggling into a feeding frenzy.

Intermission




4
Following the Ganges from source to sea
by Jake Norton



9
A year in photos: The extreme light changes of Antarctica
by Ben Adkison



4
Portraits from the streets of Havana, Cuba
by Chris Burkard












16

Message in a bottle

Since I've been living on the water, it's been my dream to stumble across a message in a bottle. It's been six years, and I've found many old wine bottles with crabs and fish living in them but no script. I thought of an old story that a Caribbean Rasta had told me. He survived on a raft after his boat was hit broadside by a large wave and capsized in a bad storm. He'd been drifting between St. Lucia and St. Vincent for three days in a 6ft fiberglass boat, with a water maker he found floating from his emergency kit. So I decided to write his story on a script, hoping that one day another sailor would appreciate his journey and how he was rescued by a fisherman who trawled those waters every day.

17

Green flash

A lot of captains I've met along my adventures have told me about a green flash at sunset. I've spent six years of sunrises and sunsets hoping to see the horizon turn green. The atmosphere can cause light from the sun to separate out into various colors, allowing a green flash to appear right after sunset or right before sunrise. This day we were in St. Lucia. I'd just finished dinner ashore and was heading back to the boat with some fresh produce. To my amazement, there it was—flick—a vibrant green line that shone along the horizon. I missed photographing it. It's so hard to capture the flash; you need to be prepared to snap it up. This shot was just a few minutes before.

18

Carnival time

I hired an old Vespa with my girlfriend over a long weekend to explore some of the local reefs in St. Martin. I always try to ride down the back streets, as there always seems to be more alluring events taking place in the alleyways. The police pulled us over and asked us to turn around as there was a carnival taking place ahead. We thought we could hear thunder, but it was the sound of the drums and the roar of the crowds as they danced through the streets. The leader of the group was the man with the African Power t-shirt. His spirit and dance moves made everyone smile around him. As he swung past me he held his hand out and gave me a high five. He noticed my camera and stopped to pose for a few photos, but this natural one was my favorite out of the bunch.

19

Aquamarine

We'd woken early one morning to try to beat the traffic on a busy Saturday at Grand Case in St. Martin. The beaches were still packed with tourists and the waves were coming up the beach, so we decided to walk down next to the marina to try to find a spot to get away from the crowds. A few kids had climbed through a wire fence and disappeared under the bridge, so I decided to follow them down, not knowing I was about to see this picturesque color of aquamarine.

20

Kindness

I was visiting some friends based in St. Martin in a marina called Bobby's. We'd been exploring the island for reef breaks, and every morning I'd have a coffee on the dock at 8am and see a young boy walk past with four bags filled with fresh fish. After the third day I asked the young boy what his name was. He replied "Bobby," in a Rasta voice. I asked him where he takes all this seafood. Bobby said he walks four kilometers every morning to the local wharf to get fresh fish for his parents' restaurant. The day we set sail for another island, I let Bobby ride with us.

11 things I miss about the South

Ah, Waffle House. Photo: Kent Yoshimura

It’s more than copious amounts of butter. I know Tennessee is only one part of the South, but, where I come from, things were la-di-da, spacious, and simple.

1. Personal space

Nashville had plenty of room to roam among a wealth of coffeeshops, living space, and nature. Personal space is a rare privilege in NYC. Apartments are too small for hanging out, cafes are crowded, and if you do find yourself on a quiet street alone, the NYPD recommends you leave it.

2. Southern breakfasts

The Loveless Cafe in Nashville has the quaint country charm and good cookin’ required for any true Southern breakfast. Homemade preserves, scratch-made biscuits, and the freshest fried chicken aren’t easy to find in pretentious-brunch-filled New York.

Waffle House is also particularly missed on late Saturday nights in the East Village, when a slice of dollar pizza just won’t do. Delightfully greasy, so darn cheap, and literally always open, Waffle House should put that bright beautiful black and yellow sign in the middle of Meatpacking and just be done with it.

3. Preppy people

In Tennessee I lived among groomed Southerners in friendly uniformed pastel polo and sundress looks. Contrast that with the bitch in the black leather Versace dress and studded Louboutin heels who stole my cab in Midtown yesterday. I then watched a hobo in a Slipknot t-shirt pick off his toenail and flick it.

Most likely this wouldn’t happen in Tennessee. That said, I have also seen a tattooed bro with gold teeth gently scoop a baby bird from the bike-filled East River highway and move it out of harm’s way, which probably isn’t something that’d happen in Tennessee.

4. $4 drinks

Nothing says NYC like spending a quick $32 bucks on two cocktails, which is easy to do when you want to try the smoked sea salt and kale margarita and the chipotle-infused agave bourbon. In Nashville, I could buy a pint of Yazoo for $4. “Don’t forget to come getchu a free one when ya finish that, darlin’,” bartenders would say. “It’s happy hour.” And for my savins’ account, it certainly was.

5. Sweet Southern conversation

“Woodya like butta on your muffin, muffin? Sugah in your coffee, sugah?” People say things like “Jeet,” meaning “Did you eat?” Or “Ju let out the cayut?” Words in the South are practically pronounced in slow motion, and I miss being called food names on the reg.

Sometimes in the city I wish someone would ask me if I like the new “flares” planted in Central Park, or if I’m planning to visit “Grammaw” for the holidays. Instead people wear earbuds everywhere and curse at me on my Citi Bike.

6. Southern music

In Nashville honky-tonks are plentiful, and Broadway’s bustling with live music. Summer’s the best time to be a Tennessean. I’m not even country’s biggest fan, but when CMA Fest rolls around I’d put on my cowboy hat and happily drink Budweiser in a tailgate parking lot.

NYC doesn’t really have parking lots, and I have yet to find a place like Lonnie’s in Printer’s Alley where I can listen to the next wannabe American Idol play the gee-tar and belt “Wagon Wheel” in tight, frayed blue jeans.

7. Gossiping

In the South, there’s something very alluring about everybody knowing everybody’s business. If Patti got a boob job, the whole town knows how much it cost. In New York, I couldn’t tell you the first name of the neighbor I share a wall with, but I could tell you he listens to accordion music when he has sex, and it knocks the frames off my wall. But if I wanted to snitch about his odd sexual antics and multiple mistresses to someone, 1) I wouldn’t have anyone to tell, and 2) no one would care.

It’s hard to find a sense of “neighborhood” in NYC, and without it, gossip isn’t really possible. Despite what Serena van der Woodsen would say.

8. That slow-paced, easy lifestyle

In a rush to get my car’s oil changed in Cookeville, Tennessee, the mechanic told me I’d have to wait five hours. “We ain’t as fast as them Yankees,” he said. Unsure if I should remind him the war was over, I dilly-dallied away with no particular place to be.

This isn’t something I ever say in New York. And always having somewhere to be can be exhausting, even if that somewhere is just a boozy bottomless jazz brunch in the West Village.

9. Places like this:

In NYC a haircut is $75, and mine’s never come with a blessing.

10. Backyards

In Tennessee, I’d walk barefoot out my back door into a clean, green, private yard surrounded by trees and birds. Now my backyard is Central Park, and it’s shared with eight million others — and I have to take the train to get there.

Let me be the first to say I adore Central Park. But once I arrive, if it’s a nice summer day, I’ll have to hunt through herds of people for a shady spot that may or may not be sprinkled with rat feces.

11. Driving for no reason

Sometimes I run on the East River and look back at the city I’m attached to and realize I’m actually trapped on this non-pristine, crowded island of Manhattan. Freedom to go wherever whenever isn’t something that exists in the city for normal people. In New York I’ve let my driver’s license expire, and my subway commute smells like hot garbage and piss. No driving on hilly, tree-lined back roads with the fresh air in my hair.

And whether it’s dumping rain or snow or so hot my shorts cling to my ass, I will have to carry my groceries home in it.

11 truths about hiking the AT

Photo: Mr McSquishyface

THE APPALACHIAN TRAIL is the longest hiking-only footpath in America — and with 2,187 miles of trail, more than 250 shelters, and an overall elevation gain equivalent to climbing Mount Everest 16 times, it earns that title.

Every year, a couple thousand people try to hike the AT from beginning to end in one season, and a few hundred manage to accomplish it. These people are known as thru-hikers, and these are the warnings I wish I’d received before attempting to become one.

1. Mistakes make great trail names.

A popular tradition of Appalachian Trail culture is to give thoughtful nicknames to your co-hikers, such as MonkeyButt, Golden Shower, or DangerPants. If you point your headlamp down while you pee in the dark, you’ll be called Flash; if you dig up someone else’s cat-hole while making your own, you’ll be called Divining Rod.

These trail names are what you go by in lieu of your real name — so don’t do something dumb early on, or it’ll follow you for 2,000 miles.

2. Sunscreen is a good idea.

Being of a darker complexion, I expected to gradually bronze up like a shiny leather lion, but after the first week my skin was closer to the red sheen of a baboon butt. The truth is I wanted to save weight by not bringing sunscreen. The Appalachian Trail has a reputation for being a “green tunnel,” with lots of tree cover, but in the early spring you can’t depend on that foliage to have your back.

Walking under naked tree limbs in Georgia and North Carolina for eight to ten hours a day can leave you fried to a crisp, so don’t listen to the ounce-counters who tell you sunscreen is more weight — so is your skin.

3. You should rain-test your gear.

Our new tent, which we hadn’t learned to properly stake out, stood up boldly to the first sprinkles we encountered. Then we got hit with a real storm. We spent the night bailing water like a sinking ship and the next day drying out our sleeping bags.

So when I say “rain-test your gear,” I don’t mean “camp in the rain.” I mean go to your local YMCA, set up your tent in the locker room, turn every shower head towards it, and play solitaire inside for an hour while you establish which seams need to be resealed.

4. Food should be hung when you’re in bear country.

Fortunately for us, we got this warning. Our food was blissfully undisturbed while our tent neighbor lost everything but his instant mashed potatoes. This followed a nocturnal encounter with a particularly nefarious bear in Georgia. Every other bear on the AT is a big, dull-witted raccoon compared with this ursine MacGyver.

Georgia was the only area we encountered bears of unusual intelligence, but you should still hang your food, especially if there are bear cables or bear poles available. We regrettably witnessed a bear removal in the Smoky Mountains due to hiker negligence. Don’t be the person who loses their food bag.

5. Rain pants are awesome.

As a previous bike tourist, I thought I’d sweat inside rain pants and get wet anyways. But when you’re hiking, rain pants can make the monumental difference between a good day and chafed thighs. And in April those pants are more likely to prevent hypothermia than create sweat. I envied the hikers who wore them over their shorts for the cold, misty mornings.

6. Diaper cream will save your ass.

Honestly. Chafing is less of a problem for people with slender builds, but for most people, and especially for women, it’s a common problem in hiking. You can laugh now, but when you feel the forgiving kiss of Desitin on that burning monkey butt, it’s like a choir of angels has blessed your posterior.

7. Larger tents save relationships.

My personal nickname for a 6x4ft enclosure is a divorce tent. I’ve seen people break up over dirty dishes. Try spraying frigid water droplets on each other while you struggle into greasy long johns. This experience brings a dark reality to the phrase “for better or for worse.”

I finished the Appalachian Trail with my significant other despite our tiny enclosure. So it can be done. If we were to do it again, though, I think we’d upgrade a few ounces for the comfort. About 50% of our arguments began with an accidental knee to the temple.

8. Traffic happens.

One of the reasons I switched from cycling to hiking was my dislike of traffic. On those long bike rides uphill, inhaling exhaust, I pictured myself on the AT, walking through pristine forests unblemished by modernity. I was conveniently overlooking the fact that in order to make a 2,000-mile linear trek across the US, there are a lot of roads to cross.

Cars are a big part of life on the AT. Whether you’re catching a ride from a kind passerby or running across the Palisades Parkway in a terrifying imitation of Frogger, you’re interacting with these steely beasts on a near-daily basis. Even in the middle of Maine’s Hundred Mile Wilderness, our lunches were interrupted by the distinctive sound of logging trucks.

Eventually, I learned to appreciate the symbiotic relationship between hikers and drivers on the trail. After all, at the end of a long, rainy walk to a road, there were people with magical machines who were willing to transport me to hot food for the price of a good story.

9. “Thru-hiker” can mean different things in different places.

Being from New Hampshire’s White Mountains area, the section of the AT notoriously known for testing the mettle of hikers, I defined a thru-hiker as a brave-spirited Adonis who sweats pure accomplishment. This is slightly different than the more populous Mid-Atlantic areas of the country, where thru-hikers are often mistaken for something else called “homeless1.”

We learned we couldn’t always depend on our thru-hiker label to protect us or explain our circumstances. Many people don’t know about the Appalachian Trail. Once we explained ourselves people were friendly, but until then they were reasonably wary of smelly, unkempt strangers in the woods. Don’t let basic misunderstandings color your impressions of some places when an explanation can go a long way.

1I would distinguish these groups by saying that hikers actually smell much worse than homeless people…and also that they choose to.

10. Moonshine is trail ambrosia.

To me, moonshine always conjured images of pigpens adjacent to dirty bathtubs and old clay jugs marked with triple Xs. I assumed drinking grain alcohol would be like swallowing a flaming hellcat, so I avoided the glass jars with their mysterious floating fruit for several hundred miles before my (usually self-injurious) curiosity compelled me to try a sip.

It was the best thing I ever tasted.

Don’t be like me. When presented with something new on the AT, embrace it with an open mind. You might get a mouthful of hellcat, or you might find yourself sipping the nectar of the gods.

11. You can and will finish.

We were so wrapped up in the question, “What if I don’t make it?” that we were almost afraid to have fun. The AT isn’t your job, and no one can say anything to change that.

There’s a petty side to human nature that seeks to tear down strong people because we interpret their success as an offense to our own inadequacy. The words of the people who succumb to this have no bearing on you, so don’t let anyone’s arbitrary benchmarks determine your actions. It doesn’t matter if you begin the trail out of shape or without hiking experience. You’re the only person who can say whether or not you’re going to finish.

If you believed what people said, you wouldn’t be standing on Springer.

A version of this post was originally published at Appalachian Trials and was reworked through MatadorU with permission.

Oman: Oceans, sand, and the Daymaniyat Islands [vid]

Follow Matador on Vimeo


Follow Matador on YouTube

OMAN IS A PLACE that I really don’t know much about. I don’t know where it falls within the spectrum of Middle Eastern countries (between the Vegas-like cities of the United Arab Emirates, and Yemen’s “FOR GOD’S SAKE, DO NOT TRAVEL HERE” consulate warnings). It’s always best to discover a place for yourself, which is why I like this video by Vincent Urban and Mario Clement. It takes away any possible political commentary, and just shows the country for what it is — a place with interesting architecture, vibrant local culture, camels, sand dunes, and excellent scuba diving.

Tracing Rwanda's human narrative

Photo: Poland MFA

It’s Saturday, and two women are dusting the skulls. Sun streams through afternoon clouds. Rain patters on the red dirt road. The sky is at once bright prisms and dark stratus swirls, and the duality is raw and promising. The women bend over shelves of bones inside the tin-roofed memorial site, pausing occasionally to look out over Rwanda’s rolling hills.

Down the road, the church choir is rehearsing, a gospel harmony streaming out of a brick-walled house. I pause on the roadway to listen.

“Keza?” an old man asks me, stopping alongside to adjust his knee-high rubber boots. Beautiful, no?

“Keza,” I agree. Beautiful.

We stand for a minute longer, the man and I, and he begins to murmur along with the hymn. As the music concludes, he extends his hand.

“Amahoro. Murakaza neza Kibeho,” he offers. Peace. Welcome to Kibeho.

* * *

I have lived here, in Kibeho, a rural town in southern Rwanda, for the past ten months. In some ways I belong. In many, I remain an outsider. I am a guest in a beautiful and layered community, one that I have come to very much admire.

Signs just outside Kigali, Rwanda’s capital, begin directing you to Kibeho, “The Holy Land.” As you get off the bus in town, a signpost orients you to the memorial site where victims of Rwanda’s 1994 genocide rest. Small painted markers point down to the valley spring where visions of the Virgin Mary occurred. Hand-lettered notices advertise cell phone credit, bus ticket sales, and chapatti at the local canteen. Up the hill, a banner declares the opening of a Catholic hotel, where portraits of Jesus, and, a little higher up, Rwanda’s President Kagame, decorate the walls.

Kibeho is a place of spiritual visions, of genocide memorial, of fields of cabbage, and a new bus line, and home to a little girl that, yesterday, learned to walk. It is also the site of a massacre, the Kibeho Massacre, which occurred in April 1995. Here, soldiers of the Royal Patriotic Front, the army President Kagame commanded and which brought a celebrated end to the 1994 genocide amidst international inaction, killed a contested 330 to 4,000 people.

I am an outsider, and as such my job is often first to listen and to learn. Each time I am told a new story, I realize how much I don’t know. I couldn’t possibly know.

There are no signs for that.

Walking about Kibeho, I often am reminded about the selectivity we use in recounting our stories and pasts. Where I am from, in the United States, dialogue on race and religion is often punctuated by conspicuous quiet. While events may pass concretely, their legacies stretch into the present, malleable by the language — and silence — with which we pass them on.

* * *

This past April, Rwanda paused in memorial: the commemoration of the 20th anniversary of prolonged civil war and violence that culminated in the genocide of 1994. On Monday, April 7th, I joined the crowd shuffling from the Genocide Memorial Site to the National Stadium in Kigali. Women in sashes of silver fabric led the procession, holding torches high with the flame of remembrance. “Twibuka Twiyibaka,” (Remember, Unite, Renew) stood out solemnly on banners and billboards. The navy shadows of police and trauma assistants stood at the entrance to the stadium.

As I took my seat on the concrete bleachers I looked around, searching for a word to describe my surroundings. More than any one emotion, the plurality hit home. Swaddled toddlers yammered at their mothers for a bite of mandazi, a fried bread treat. Schoolchildren sought out their friends.

A wiry teenaged boy tried to steal a kiss; not here, the girl elbowed him. Grey-haired men sat straight-backed. In the soccer field below, a half dozen heads-of-state waited to speak.

The ceremony centered on a dramatic performance depicting the persecution of Tutsis during the 1994 genocide and the resurrection of Rwanda by the Rwandan Patriotic Front. Soldiers touched fallen actors, and their silver sashes flowing, spirit-like, they rose, uniting in the center of the field. The score from the army band soared: one Rwanda.

As I watched the performance, the story’s choreography stood out. It was so linear, so tidy. I admire pieces of educational drama for their ability to reach wide audiences and to begin difficult conversations, and acknowledge that the purpose of the performance was not to sketch a complete account of events.

Yet, I couldn’t escape the feeling that the presentation narrowed Rwanda’s history to such a finite and fine-tuned narrative that it forwent much of the complexity that offers powerful learning. As people we’re not tidy, and our histories, like us, are human, sometimes grotesquely so.

Riding back to Kibeho from Kigali on the bus afterwards, I sat next to a young man who struck up a conversation. “We remember in Rwanda,” he said. “But this week we, Rwandans, remember in other places, too. My family is in Uganda; they are refugees. They are waiting to come home. They were not mentioned in the speech.” I nodded.

I am an outsider, and as such my job is often first to listen and to learn. Each time I am told a new story, I realize how much I don’t know. I couldn’t possibly know. I don’t know how you construct a lasting external peace when many continue to endure emotional and violent inner turmoil.

I have been wholly impressed by the reconstruction and emergence of a new national identity, much of which requires perseverance beyond my own experience or comprehension. I am often in awe.

When the young man stopped speaking, I settled back in my chair. Many genocide perpetrators fled to refugee camps, I knew; yet many who also lived there were victims, or had fled in a long series of previous violent eruptions. Did this man’s family flee in fear of their lives? Of prosecution? I didn’t know. What I did know was that today he felt his story was not included in the national narrative presented.

Reflecting on the stadium performance, I wondered at the number of voices muted, like this young man’s, in the tidy fanfare of the united army band. What pieces — necessarily, dangerously? — had been edited out of the history commemorated and passed forward?

* * *

In Kibeho, I survey the roadway one last time before continuing. The rain has moved on, and I watch the sun and storm mix on the horizon, the sight more powerful for the layers it contains.

Hostel recipe: Fancy grilled cheese

Photo: Jeffrey W

What you’ll need:

2 slices of thick, multigrain bread
1 block of soft and creamy cheese, preferably double, or even triple, cream brie
1 tomato, sliced thin
½ avocado, guacamole’d
2 mushrooms, sliced thin
¼ onion, diced
1 strip of bacon
Butter
Chives
Basil
1 can of tomato soup
¼ cup milk
¼ cup water
salt/pepper
1 tbsp. olive oil


What you’ll have:

2 slices of supermarket dollar loaf. What’s the difference between wholegrain and multigrain?
4 slices of cheese singles, the kind that lists “cheese” as one of the actual ingredients
1 tomato, slightly crushed by that French dude who dropped his groceries on yours in the fridge. Thank God for GMO sturdiness.
1 avocado, secretly and shamefully rung up as brown onions at the self-checkout.
2 mushrooms, but you’ve got three and what the hell are you gonna do with one mushroom? So, 3 mushrooms.
¼ onions, diced (there ya go!)
1 strip of bacon (we’re on a roll!)
Butter (wait, what is that black stuff stuck in it?)
Chives (brownish because you never think to use your chives)
1 can of tomato soup
½ cup water
salt/pepper
I dunno, just dump some olive oil on it

Step 1: Go to the kitchen. This really shouldn’t warrant a step of its own, but hitting the kitchen at the perfect time in a hostel is an art. This is your third time checking already, and for once, it’s not completely crowded. There’s nobody there but you and that one couple in the corner, the one that looks so cute cooking a restaurant-quality meal together. Silently hate their happiness. Luckily, the dude using six pans and all of the counter space just to burn a single hamburger has finally left, so take his spot before the couple decides to spread out.

Step 2: Choose your utensils. For this exercise, we’ll need a chef’s knife, two skillets, a small pot, a spatula, wooden spoon, tongs, and a cutting board. You’ll find these easily enough, though none of them will be clean. You can wash them in the sink, but all the sponges and steel wool have — what is that, cheese and egg? — stuck to them. Wipe everything down as best you can.

Step 3: Drizzle the 1 tbsp. olive oil (read: just dump some) into one of the skillets and begin heating both on medium flames. There are several burners to choose from, but because everybody forgets to turn them off, only one of them works at any given time. It’s like whack-a-mole with potential gas explosions. Watch as the oil retreats to the sides of the badly warped pans, completely defeating the purpose of putting it in there.

Step 4: While the oil and skillet is heating, wash and cut the vegetables. You’ll be much less stressed later if all the prep work is done at the beginning. Of course, the hostel knife is so dull that you’ll end up smashing the tomato to mush without even breaking the skin, so maybe the stress is just part-and-parcel. Cut using the very back heel of the knife — it’s not ideal, but it will still be sharp there. Nobody knows how to really use knives. Remember, rocking motions.

Step 5: When the oil is hot, add the diced onion. Season lightly — you’ll be salting the rest of the vegetables as you add them and you don’t want to overdo it on the first layer. Add the bacon to the second skillet. While the onions start to caramelize and the bacon starts to sizzle, put the pot on another burner (if you can find one), and add the tomato soup. If you managed to find some milk, add ¼ cup of water to the soup. If not (probably not), add a full ½ cup of water. Keep it on a low flame.

Step 6: After a few minutes, the onions should turn a nice golden color. This means it’s time to add the mushrooms. Remember that layer of seasoning. Continue to flip the bacon, and begin constructing the sandwich. At this point, it’s just a layer of cheese on the bottom bread, but when the bacon reaches your preferred crispiness, add that as well. It will begin to melt the cheese a bit — we want that. Add the tomato slices, then one more layer of cheese.

Step 7: At this point, inevitably, somebody will come up to you, point to something in your area, and ask, “Hey man, are you using that?” You think he’s referring to your cutting board, but honestly, he could very well mean your actual sandwich. Regardless, you’re still using both, so just say yes and he’ll leave. Backpackers are vultures and will grab anything in the kitchen if you let them. Cutting Board Guy will eye you for the rest of your meal.

Step 8: If you’ve timed it right, the mushrooms should start to shrink and sweat right around the time the onions finish caramelizing into a nice brown color. Scoop them onto the sandwich, then spread the mashed avocado on top. Follow it up with another layer of cheese, then the last bit of bread.

So let’s recap. Our sandwich is ready, and, if you’ve followed the instructions, should look a little something like this:

Bread

Cheese

Avocado

Mushroom/Onion

Cheese

Tomato

Bacon

Cheese

Bread

We’re ready to cook it. Before you do, suddenly remember that you’re also making tomato soup. Check it and you’ll see that you’ve reduced it too much, so add a bit of water and act like you meant to do that. Cutting Board Guy isn’t buying it.

Step 9: Add a bit of butter to the bacon skillet, which should still be on medium heat. As a poor backpacker, you may be tempted to used margarine as a substitute. It’s all most people will lend you. Don’t do it. Margarine will burn and smoke, while butter will brown into deliciousness. Once it has, toss in a bit of chives and plop that sammich right on top of them. Use the spatula to push it around and ensure even coverage (and that the chives are pushed into the bread), then put a small amount of butter on top of the sandwich as well. You’re gonna need to flip it in about two minutes, depending on how melted the cheese is and how toasted you like the outsides.

Step 10: Oh God. It’s about time to flip the sandwich. That couple is sitting over there fucking julienning carrots and getting ready to sous-vide a salmon fillet, Cutting Board Guy is watching your every move, and you have to somehow flip this big son of a bitch over in its pan without everything flying around the room like a grilled tornado. If everything has gone perfectly according to plan, the cheese will have melted sufficiently to hold the whole thing together on its glorious arc through the air. But come on. You’ve been living in hostels for a few months now. You know better than to think something’s gone according to plan.

This is it. Slide the spatula under the bread. The top slice shifts a bit, daring you. Come on, do it. Maybe if you grab another spatula, you could try to flip it over while holding it together, and then just put it back down on the other side. Try it. This is so awkward with your wrists. It’s gonna come apart if you do it this way. People are watching. People are holding their breaths. Fuck it, you’re going for it.

Flip. Plop.

Exhale. It…kinda worked. The tomato is slipping out the side a bit. Some of the cheese is now burning on the pan. But hey, it could have been worse. The world resumes turning.

Step 11: While you wait for the other side to cook, add the milk and basil (if you found any) to the tomato soup. Take it off the heat and pour it in your bowl. Of course, you’ve made entirely too much, so leave the rest in the pot. Take everything else (tongs, cutting board, etc) to the sink — you’re not going to want to clean them up after you eat, so do it while you have a bit of time. Leave the pans. Putting them in water right after using them will cause them to warp, and while they’re shitty enough as is, you can do your part to make them last a little longer.

Step 12: And you’re done! That sandwich should now be golden and delicious, crust just barely glistening with toasted grease, insides gooingly becoming outsides. Plate that beautiful bastard and carry it and your tomato soup to the table. The pan needs time to cool, so enjoy your sandwich first by dipping it into that creamy tomato soup and taking your first, big bite.

Cutting Board Guy will soon point to your pan and shout that your mother doesn’t live here. Leave your amazing meal and take your still-smoking skillet to the sink. Cringe as the water hisses against its cruelly twisting metal husk, almost as if it’s in agony.

Whatever. It was worth it.

19 surprising facts about Thailand

1

Next time someone giggles at the name “Bangkok,” inform them that the full name of the city is Krungthepmahanakhon Amonrattanakosin Mahintharayutthaya Mahadilokphop Noppharatratchathaniburirom Udomratchaniwetmahasathan Amonphimanawatansathit Sakkathattiyawitsanukamprasit. That’ll teach ‘em. FYI, that’s the longest city name in the world.

Photo: Justin Vidamo

2

Speaking of traditional names, Thailand, in Thai, is Prathet Thai, meaning "Land of the Free." Before it adopted this name, the nation was called Siam, which is Sanskrit for “dark” or “brown.”

Photo: Vinoth Chandar

3

"Land of the Free" is appropriate, because Thailand is the only country in Southeast Asia never to have been colonized by a foreign power.

Photo: Darren Johnson

See more: 33 photos that will make you want to visit Thailand NOW




4

Thailand has over 1,400 islands within its territory. Arguably the most famous—thanks to the movie The Beach—is Koh Phi Phi near Phuket.

Photo: NASA Goddard Space Flight Center

5

Another famous beach is Koh Phangan, birthplace of the Full Moon Party, a debauched concept that's now spread throughout the region. Be warned: It comes with risks of physical harm (perhaps diving through a flaming hoop?) and arrest (if caught purchasing illicit substances), among other serious consequences. In the morning, all that remains is the trash of the masses, unconscious, over-yolo’d 20-somethings, and most people’s dignity.

Photo: Thomas sauzedde

6

Never leave home without it.

Photo: shira gal

7

Whether you're wearing underwear or not, you could still get nabbed for stepping on the local currency, the Thai Baht.

Photo: Peter Hellberg

8

Feet are considered spiritually and symbolically dirty, and so a person should never point their feet at another person, or at a temple. (This is mostly a concern when sitting, especially if cross-legged in a chair—your crossed foot should not dangle in someone’s direction.)

Photo: Caitlin Regan

9

On the flip side, the head is the holiest part of the body. Thus, you should never touch someone’s head—even a child's.

Photo: Georgie Pauwels

See more: 7 adventures in Thailand you shouldn't miss




10

Thailand has a college just for monkeys. It's called Thani Monkey College, and the students learn all sorts of street-preforming tricks, as well as how to collect coconuts. Speaking of monkeys, Thailand also has a special banquet—a monkey banquet, where thousands of monkeys are served platters of fruit and vegetables.

Photo: Andy Rennie

11

Thailand is a constitutional monarchy, and most Thais adore their king and queen. Many families display the king's face in their homes, and it’s pretty much illegal to speak ill of him. The Thai royal families have been so revered that, in the past, no one was allowed to even touch them; in fact, in the 1800s, a queen drowned when her boat capsized and no onlookers came her to rescue due to this strict rule.

Photo: Maxence

12

Many Thais have a firm belief in ghosts. For example, after purchasing a house, it’s very common to build a small spirit house for whoever occupied the site in the past, and to give offerings to the spirits. If you were to stay in a Thai home, you might be asked to make a small offering and ask permission from the spirits for your stay. Of course, every family and their degree of belief is different, but walking around after dark just got a little spookier.

Photo: Ray Bodden

13

Thailand is one of the most Buddhist nations on Earth, with 95% of the population identifying as such. It’s common for Thai men to spend a little time in their youths trying out life as a monk, though most do not enter monkhood.

Photo: KX Studio

14

Everyone loves Thai food, right? Next time, try one of these more “authentic” dishes: goong ten (live shrimp salad), larb mote daeng (red ants and their eggs), baak bpet (duck mouths), or mok huak (grown tadpoles in fermented fish sauce).

Photo: J Aaron Farr

15

In Bangkok, it’s normal to see the thermometer soar above 40C (104F), and wintertime temps hang out around 26C (79F).

Photo: Travelbusy.com

See more: 8 ways to get utterly off the beaten track in Thailand




16

The Vivaldi Restaurant in Bangkok served the world’s most expensive cocktail, the “Valentine’s Cocktail.” Coming in at 540,000 baht (that’s more than $15,000 US), it was garnished with a five-karat ruby instead of an olive, and served with a six-course dinner, a night in the adjoining luxury hotel, and a bottle of Dom. Happy Valentine’s Day, millionaires.

Photo: Didriks

17

Thailand is home to one of the world’s largest freshwater fish, the Mekong giant catfish, which can weigh up to 700lbs, as well as the world’s smallest bat, the bumblebee bat (or Kitti’s hog-nosed bat), which grows to a little over an inch and weighs two grams.

Photo: Gilles San Martin

18

Songkran is one of the world’s largest water festivals and takes place in one of the hottest months of the Thai year—April. It's also a time for cleansing (both personally and in the home, similar to spring cleaning) and signals the Thai New Year. By the way, in Thailand, the current year is 2557 (543 years ahead of the Gregorian Calendar).

Photo: John Shedrick

[image error]

19

Another famous festival is Loi Krathong, which takes place in November—an excellent month to visit Thailand, weather-wise—and is a celebration that sees thousands of paper lanterns lit and released to the sky. The festival also includes boat races, beauty contests, fireworks, and parades galore.

Photo: John Shedrick

This post is proudly produced in partnership with the Tourism Authority of Thailand and STA Travel, working together to tell stories of the peoples, places, and cultures that make Thailand special.

8 signs you're a tourist in Rio

Photo: Phil Whitehouse

You may spend your days on the sand, listening to samba, thinking you fit right in — but here’s why you’re not truly a carioca.

1. You’re sunburned.

Don’t even think about hitting the beach (or anywhere else) without sunscreen. The Brazilian sun is hot and will annihilate your skin if you’re not careful. Sure, you want to get a tan, but a carioca knows that skin cancer and sunburns aren’t sexy.

Scalding red tan lines show you’ve lost the battle with the sun and make you stick out against the tanned, caramel brown skin around you. You can still get a sexy tan when applying and reapplying sunscreen every few hours.

2. You’re wearing a one-piece or swim trunks.

Less is more on Rio’s beaches. You think your belly pooch is so offensive you can’t wear a bikini? Wrong. Cariocas of ALL shapes and sizes rock minimal beachwear. This standard applies for guys who hide inside baggy swim trunks, too. Time to break out the sunga and let it all hang out. Order a beach caipirinha and leave your body issues at home.

3. You still have body hair.

Ladies, it’s called a Brazilian for a reason. The fellas don’t get a pass, either. Men in Rio have bare chests and manscaping in other areas. If you want to fit in on the soccer field or volleyball court, book an appointment at your nearest waxing salon.

4. You haven’t pledged allegiance to a soccer team yet.

Rio has four major soccer teams: Vasco da Gama, Botafogo, Flamengo, and Fluminense. Cariocas love the national team, but their true devotion lies with their local club. If you plan on spending more than two weeks in Rio, you’d better choose a side. Soccer is a religion here — you don’t want to insult your Brazilian friends by being so oblivious.

Be warned: Picking a team is an instant way to make friends and enemies.

5. You wear nice jewelry.

Wearing nice jewelry is the equivalent of wearing a sign that says, “Hey, I have a lot of money! Rob me!” With the crime rate in Rio, you can’t wear anything expensive unless you want to be targeted. Muggers are known for running by and ripping jewelry right off your neck. You’re better off leaving the real gold at home and embracing knockoffs and plastic. This also applies to flaunting electronics on the street. Put your iPad away and blend in.

6. You pay with big bills.

The one hundred Brazilian real bill is the bane of every cashier. When you hand it to them, they’ll shoot you an annoyed look and ask, “Não tem menor?” (Don’t you have something smaller?)

Whether it’s a street vendor, supermarket, or giant department store, salespeople rarely have tons of change. Break big bills any time you’re spending more than R$30, then save your small bills for anything under R$20. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait while your under-enthusiastic cashier calls their manager, debates over the money in the register, begrudgingly gets change, then huffily gives it back to you.

7. You think Brazilians eat healthy.

You first imagine a tropical climate where everyone only eats luscious mangoes and freshly caught fish. You think everything is natural and bursting with flavor. Then you realize cariocas will fry anything or smother it with cheese. And for dessert, they’ll pump it full of sugar or cover it in condensed milk.

Don’t be fooled by that “natural” juice you just ordered. Unless you requested sem açúcar, it’ll come loaded with sugar. If you’re expecting to find Whole Foods-type products here, you’re out of luck. Brazilians haven’t gotten the natural-eating memo yet. They still cling to their added sugar, processed foods, and diet products.

And good luck if you’re a vegetarian or vegan…

8. You’re still trying to figure out what farofa is.

It’s toasted manioc flour, folks. Just sprinkle it over your beans and rice and don’t ask questions.

Paddling the free-flowing Amur River

Nobody’s River is a documentary expedition on the Amur, one of the world’s greatest but least known free-flowing (or dam-less) rivers. In the summer of 2013, a team of four women traveled, by a number of crafts and methods, from the Onon River headwaters in Mongolia (and the birthplace of Genghis Khan) all the way to the Pacific Ocean delta in Russia, some 5,000km total.

Travel methods included Russian minivans, horses, trans-Siberian trains, kayaks, paragliders, local taxis, ferries, and their own two feet. They kayaked 1,000km total — 500 in Mongolia and 500 in Russia.

The team was led by Amber Valenti, a physician’s assistant with a background in rescue and wilderness medicine. Krystle Wright was the expedition photographer, DP, and media specialist. Becca Dennis, an expert paddler and all-around adventure athlete, handled Russian logistics and risk mitigation. And, finally, Sabra Purdy, a watershed restoration ecologist and climbing-guide-service owner, led efforts to collect data and document river ecology.

Trailer of upcoming film Nobody’s River. Please check their screenings page for theatrical releases near you.

Amber Valenti answered a few questions about Nobody’s River:

DM: How does this watershed compare with others in the region? / What’s the scenario of hydropower in Russia/Mongolia?

AV: The Amur-Heilong watershed, while widely unknown, has incredible global importance for one major reason: It’s one of the few great free-flowing rivers left on the planet. It has no dams and only two major bridges along its entire length. This makes the Amur a world treasure as well as a crucial baseline for the management of all large rivers. As one of the few rivers with a clean slate, it could become a model for sound management of water resources worldwide.

The Amur River is incredibly unique. As the third-longest free-flowing river in the world, it traverses the vast and widely untamed landscapes of Mongolia, China, and Russia for more than 4,000km. Claimed as the most biodiverse watershed in Asia, it supports enormous taimen (a fish in the salmon family), rare birds, Siberian leopards, tigers, and countless other unique plants and animals. It’s a living reminder of what we’ve lost by damming more than 60% of the world’s rivers, but it also stands as a symbol of the incredible wild places that still exist — and we believe should be celebrated.

Hydropower projects are planned all over the three countries the Amur River flows through (Mongolia, Russia, and China), and there’s very little protection of rivers in these areas. While we’ve dammed the vast majority of our rivers in the US and are in the midst of a dam-removal movement to take out any outdated and destructive dams, these countries still have some incredible free-flowing waterways left. The Amur is one of the most impressive of these.

Why the name “Nobody’s River“?

The name Nobody’s River came out of the fact that this river is a transboundary river — meaning it flows through multiple countries. So, factually, it doesn’t belong to any one nation. This has been both a benefit and a struggle in its management. The name has evolved to signify something deeper for all of us — the concept that our rivers don’t belong to just a country or individuals, they belong to the collective. They’re truly global treasures.

What advantages are there to having an all-female crew in terms of cultural engagement / access to different places?

Communities and individuals we met along the way definitely warmed up to us quickly. I think four rather petite, smiling women are just not very threatening in any culture. So that was a huge benefit as we traveled. When we crossed one border I remember this very stern border guard cracking a smile and laughing. She just couldn’t believe we were really doing what we said. But she let us through without a single search!

On the flip side, in places like Russia and Mongolia, it was sometimes confusing for people that we were a group of women. I really noticed how much fear people experienced for us. It was wild to see the fear our communities — and those we traveled through — felt, largely because we were all women. I remember one man yelling after us as we were pulling away from the shoreline on the Lower Amur in Khabarovsk, “But you have no security!”

All photos by Krystle Wright

1

The team traveled by horseback for three days from a small northern Mongolian village to get to the headwaters of the Onon River, source of the massive free-flowing Amur River. Sabra Purdy, Amber Valenti, and Becca Dennis (left to right) exchange their knowledge of maps for a lesson in intuition with their team of Mongolian guides.

2

Becca Dennis bundles up as an evening storm builds and the team heads deeper and deeper into the wildness of northern Mongolia.

3

Leading the way, Amber Valenti points out a hazard downstream. The team paddled all 500km of the Onon River through northern Mongolia.

Intermission





Redefining sea kayaking
by eric warren



1
Running the US’ longest undammed river
by eric warren



3
Dispatch from Murchison Falls: Guiding one of the most intense rivers in the world
by Chris Korbulic












4

Mongolian border guards detain the team to inspect the kayaks, verify paperwork, and, of course, make sure they're not spies.

5

A local family welcomes the team into their ger, a traditional nomadic home, on the steppe during the journey back to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia.

6

Sabra Purdy keeps watch at a Russian train station over a towering pile of gear during a 10-day trans-Siberian train journey that connected their paddles on the headwaters of the Amur River in Mongolia and the Lower Amur River in Russia.

7

The team paddled 500km of the Lower Amur River in Far East Russia, braving a mess of braided channels that stretch as far as the eye can see, ocean-sized swell, and raging monsoon storms.

10 morally questionable travel tales

Photo: yeowatzup

1. Dancing at the election parties of dubious Middle Eastern dictators

In my defence, at the time Bashar al-Assad was relatively benign, and Syria was the safest country in the region. Nobody knew that weak jawline and undefined chin were capable of so much evil.

Bashar’s face was plastered sky-high across every building. The beady eyes that seemed to express timidity rather than malevolence looked out from posters and flags unfurled by enthusiastic young men caught up in Bashar fervour, roaring around Damascus in the backs of trucks blasting out the al-Assad theme song (yes, he really did have one). The whole of Syria was dancing, drinking tea, and voting for the man whose name was the only one on the ballot.

I’ve since destroyed my “We Love You, Bashar” t-shirt.

2. Engaging in dodgy border crossings

I thought I was going to Mexico when I got on a bus in small-town Guatemala. “Si, si, no problema,” the bus driver nodded. I should’ve guessed something was amiss when I saw the first seat was occupied by a clown. Nothing feels right about crossing a border in the company of a clown.

The bus came to a halt soon after. “Mexico?” I asked. The clown got off. “Si, si, no problema.” The bus driver pointed to the opposite bank of a gushing river that stood between me and Mexico, where hundreds of Guatemalans were wading through the rushing water, clutching baskets on their heads. Not having faith in my ability to scramble up Mexican shores with a backpack balanced on my head, I enlisted the help of a boy with a raft. That was a tough one to explain when questioned at Mexican immigration.

3. Bribing your way out of a difficult situation

Slipping some dirty cash to a cop can get you out of many an awkward situation overseas — like when you’ve accidentally overstayed your visa by three months. I got picked up in a train station in Bolivia by a man with a label hand-sewn onto his shirt that said “Interpol.” He dragged me to a stark basement somewhere in the station’s underbelly, whipped out a copy of the Bolivian constitution, and slammed it on the table alongside the Bible and the Evo Morales biography to prove there was no code I wasn’t violating.

Turns out, there was no code he wasn’t willing to violate for a fast 100 bucks. I got him down to 50.

4. Taking advantage of your privileged status

I wish I didn’t have examples of this — but we all do. Like accepting a spot in a ‘special section’ fenced off on the deck of a boat when crossing from Sudan to Egypt so I’d have room to stretch out. Or being waved through the border into Mauritania ahead of all the Mauritanians who’d been waiting for hours to get let into their own country. Or getting paid at least three times the local salary in Morocco. And so on.

5. Working jobs you think are wrong

I was down to my last 20 dollars when I finally found work in New York, so desperation levels were high. My first job involved coaxing unwitting individuals to air their abuses and addictions on a radio show, in the utterly false promise that we’d put them on reality TV. I wrote ads that all began with “Do You Want to Be a STAR?” and lots of poor folk did.

My second job involved coaxing unwitting Amish individuals to be on an actual reality TV show. This proved to be tricky, given that the Amish had zero interest in being STARS. When nothing else worked — and it generally didn’t — we lured them with money. By the time the show aired, I’d already hightailed it to Mexico.

6. Participating in poverty tours

I don’t generally go in for tours, but…sometimes you just really want to go down a Bolivian silver mine. The guide assured us the miners loved the tour groups coming through, as the tourists bring them gifts. So we brought useful gifts of cigarettes and deathly strong alcohol and got in the way of their work as much as possible.

In return, the miners smiled and posed for our expensive cameras, while we gawked at the narrow tunnels where they spend at least 12 hours a day bent double in back-breaking labour amid dangerous conditions and toxic fumes for a paltry salary. They pointed to the most treacherous parts, where the walls had fallen in, so we could take photos of those too.

7. Protesting for a cause you don’t really know anything about

Not so much questionable as downright foolish. I can’t recommend this course of action to anyone. It will end, if not in tears, then at least in tear gas and beatings from the Turkish police. I came home from the May Day demonstrations in Taksim Square only slightly wiser about the secularist movement in Turkey and covered in black bruises.

8. Volunteering for an international organisation

If you disagree, you’ve clearly never seen the international band of do-gooders hanging around the assorted bars of East Jerusalem. They’re in search of an authentic travel experience — even if it comes at the expense of the locals. You can’t just charge into a town on the West Bank picking a fight with Israeli soldiers and expect there not to be consequences for the people who actually live there after you get on your flight back to Arizona.

9. Haggling over prices

I enjoy a good haggle as much as the next traveler. But this usually means spending 15 minutes quibbling over an amount of money that for this man in Senegal comprises a daily salary and for you probably wouldn’t even be worth picking up if you dropped it in the street. You haggle on regardless — mostly because he chased you all the way down the beach and insisted you buy the wooden giraffe you never wanted anyway.

If you’re going to buy the damn thing, you want to make sure you pay next to nothing for it.

10. Upholding the class system

For some years, I funded my travel by stints looking after aging English aristocrats in country estates. I answered to a bell and polished silver plates engraved with “His Lordship” and “Her Ladyship.” “My family used to be poor like yours,” I was told often. “But now we are middle class.” As though cruises and manors and 12-household staff were the mark of the middle class.

“Fancy asking the people of England to choose their own parliament,” one Lady lamented when the House of Lords became democratically elected. “What next — have them elect the national cricket team?” The Lords and Ladies were inevitably drunk on the finest whiskey by 11am to cope with that terrible thought.