Matador Network's Blog, page 2236

14 signs you're from Vermont

Photo: Lulu Lovering

1. You refuse to use fake maple syrup.

In fact, you don’t even call it maple syrup. It’s “the fake stuff” or “the maple impostor,” or occasionally something more crude. Plus, Aunt Jemima ain’t got nothing on your neighbor’s syrup.

2. Flannel isn’t a fashion statement — it’s a necessity.

It gets cold here. You’re not buying the trendy flannel that hipsters pay $100 for — you’re going straight to your local outdoor store and getting something with lining that will help during the below-zero temps.

3. You don’t say “Vermont.” Or “mountains.”

Instead, you say something that sounds like “Vermawn” and “the mounains.” There are no T’s in your dialect.

4. You have multiple years of ski passes on your winter jacket.

You grew up on the mountain. You’ve spent days carving down Mad River, Jay Peak, Snow Mountain. We all know if you’re in Vermont and it’s snowing, you’re at the mountain.

5. You know what a creemee is and that it’s the best summer treat.

The name may be weird, but you’ll never turn down a maple-black-raspberry twist. Never.

6. You know what leaf peepers are.

And you get annoyed when they stop in the middle of the road to take pictures.

7. You grew up with or around farmers, and your parents have been buying produce from them for years.

You probably saw that Thanksgiving turkey on their farm, too.

More like this: 23 signs you were born and raised in Maine


8. You know that although the weatherman may try, he’s never right.

Rain one minute, hot and sunny the next? Golf-ball sized hail? Just your average Thursday.

9. Mud season is its own season.

They left this out of the 2nd-grade textbooks, but boy do you know it’s true.

10. 802 is your mantra.

It’s highly represented in your phone, on your snowboard, and on t-shirts in your closet. You haven’t changed your phone number even if you’ve moved away, because there’s a strange need to keep those first three digits.

11. You can count on your hands how many snow days you had in school.

Because Vermonters aren’t scared of three feet of snow.

12. Your friends call you a hippie…

No matter if you subscribe to the flower child ways or not.

13. You know your neighbors, their family, and everyone at the grocery store.

It’s hard to just pop in and buy milk when everyone wants to say hi.

14. Ben & Jerry’s is king.

It’s also a go-to while traveling, and you know and love at least one flavor from their graveyard.

Important tips for traveling green

Photo: Viktor Dobai

Travelers tend to think of the world as something worth preserving, which forces them to confront a problem: Travel can actually be pretty damaging to the environment. A lot of forms of travel have high carbon emissions, and a lot of tourist activities do significant damage to the sites being visited.

There are plenty of things you can do, of course. There’s the famous “Take only photos, leave only footprints,” mantra, there’s ecotourism, and there’s political involvement. But on a more personal level, how should you travel if you want to travel with the lowest possible carbon emissions?

The obvious answer is to travel by your own power. This could mean walking, biking, kayaking, paddleboating, skateboarding, scootering, or pretty much any other form of travel that doesn’t involve an engine. You could sail, or you could put together a skiff like Huck Finn and only visit places that are downriver. In a lot of cases, like international travel, these aren’t practical. Here’s how to travel with the lowest carbon emissions possible while still using an engine.

How to get there greener

Back in 2008, the Union of Concerned Scientists (UCS) put together a guide titled Getting There Greener. It basically took apart each mode of travel and calculated its total carbon emissions over certain distances. The answer isn’t as cut-and-dry as you might suspect — there are three main factors you need to consider when you’re calculating total carbon emissions for your trip.

The first is the distance you’re traveling, as some options become more efficient and more reasonable over longer distances. For example, planes tend to be big carbon emitters. But if you’re traveling a distance of a thousand miles, the plane is going to be running for about two hours while a car could be running for 15 to 20.

The second thing you have to consider is how many people are traveling with you. If you’re traveling in a car and you have two people instead of one, you’ve already cut your collective carbon emissions in half. If you’re traveling on a plane, you’re splitting those emissions with anywhere from a few dozen to a few hundred other people. But if you’re in first class, you’re taking up more space on that plane — space that could seat another passenger.

The worst modes of travel

Unsurprisingly, the worst mode of travel is first-class airplane travel. This is because of the high emissions of the plane and because of the space you’re taking up. That said, if you’re traveling on your own and are traveling more than 500 miles, the worst way to travel is by SUV. SUVs are huge polluters, but this doesn’t mean that in some situations they aren’t a viable option — if you’ve got a family of four or more, an SUV comes in the middle of the pack for efficiency.

But flying first class is always a mistake, and is never recommended by the UCS. If you can, book your trip on an all-economy flight, and fly direct whenever possible. If you have to make a connection, still try and travel in as straight a line as possible.

For one person going long distances, even the average car is a big polluter. Back during World War II, US propaganda attempted to convince Americans to carpool to save on fuel. The famous tagline was “WHEN YOU DRIVE ALONE, YOU DRIVE WITH HITLER!” A little heavy-handed, yeah, but now we could just as easily say, “WHEN YOU DRIVE ALONE, YOU DRIVE WITH MASS EXTINCTION!”

In short: When it comes to cars, carpool whenever you can.

The best modes of travel

It turns out there’s a single answer to this in literally every scenario: If you can’t bike where you’re going, take a motor coach. Every time. This is especially good news for budget travelers, because in the absence of a solid public transportation system in America, we’ve seen an influx of budget bus companies like Megabus and BoltBus. These are not only some of the cheapest modes of travel, but they’re universally the best. And, hey, free wifi!

The reason is that, while buses use a lot of gas, you’re usually splitting it with a couple dozen people, and that dilutes the emissions more than any other form of travel. So take the Megabus if you can.

If buses aren’t your thing, the next best option is usually to take the train. Trains have way more in the way of carbon emissions than motor coaches, but they also split them among hundreds of passengers. The Northeast United States is the best place to take trains because there’s more of them here, and many run on electricity rather than diesel.

If you’re traveling with a family of four, though, it turns out the second-best mode of travel is actually taking a road trip in a typical car, and if there’s just one or two of you traveling, and you’re going a long distance, the second-best way is to fly economy.

A few more tips

The UCS did a full chart of travel modes by rank. They also provided some useful tips as well. If you’re traveling by car, for example, try to travel when there’s little or no traffic, as traffic increases your emissions. And obviously, if you travel with a hybrid, an electric car, or at least a car with very high fuel efficiency, you’ll be doing a lot to lower that carbon footprint.

Do your research before traveling. You can still see the world and keep your carbon footprint to a minimum.

Discussing our travel insecurities

Photo: Pabak Sarkar

MatadorU students and faculty share with us their greatest insecurities as travelers.

“Being seen as the hostel/campsite weirdo just because I’m traveling alone and would prefer to stay alone. I hate the looks of smug pity when I say I want to read my book rather than join the eclectic band of backpackers going on a daytrip to Chichen Itza or wherever. I hate that I feel I have to justify my want to wander around, deliberate and solitary and glad.”

Ailsa Ross

“It is usually my hallmark to not give a holy flying shit what anyone thinks, but when traveling abroad I am quickly reduced to an awkward teenager with bad skin, stoned for the first time, and debilitated by the searing paranoia that everyone hates me. Whenever I dig myself into a place it’s always with the feeling of being at worst an interloper and at best a lucky outsider. I want the people who are gracious enough to share their food, floors, stories, and hooch to think I am impossibly cool and respectful. But often when the chasm of disparity is at its greatest I am in total fear that I seem like a foolish, spoiled, self-indulgent girl with disheveled hair and too many goddamn bracelets. The remedy of course is to surrender to the fear and hope by delivering kindness and gratitude you can upend a first impression and be the girl with too many goddamn bracelets that held eye contact, listened intently and bought the last round.”

Reda Marie Wigle

“The size of my backpack. I’m not a light packer, and I’m okay with this. Nobody else seems to be, however.”

Candice Walsh

“For me, it’s those moments as a solo traveler when you’re ‘between’ your people. You survive a 28-hour bus ride on winding mountain roads with guardrails made of crime scene tape and bamboo sticks. Thanks to the shared horror of the experience and a bottle of Thai whiskey, you become fast friends with your bus-mates and spend the next week at the center of a raucous pack of people who you’ve only just met but have somehow come to love with all your heart. And then it’s over. You’re heading north, and your people are heading south, and in that moment after you’ve said goodbye to everyone, you wonder if you’ll ever find another group as awesome as the one you’ve just left.”

Carleen Krug

“Getting out of my comfort zone or really succumbing to my glutinous love of being lazy. Traveling offers such a great opportunity to reinvent your identity free of the ties you have back home and really get stuck into anything and everything without the fear of being judged. I’ve found each time I’ve set off on a new trip I’ve had grand plans about not missing out on anything and never refusing an invitation. However, the more trips progress it can sometimes become easier to take the easy way out and fall behind excuses of too tired, too shy, too dangerous or too scared. It’s then I have to actively call myself a lazy so & so, get up and actually commit too living a little. That and shit hair!”

Joe Wilson

“I am not scared of the flight itself, what terrifies me is airport security. It goes without saying that I have never ever in my life had any problem passing through the security checkpoints, but I am not calm until I have made it to the other side. (And no, I never carry any illegal items, but I’m sure I look suspicious!).”

Ana Bulnes

“My greatest insecurity as a traveler is the process of getting there. As someone who has a real fear of flying, the act of getting myself on that plane is a process in itself! I would usually have at least one nightmare the week leading up to the flight. Alcohol was the tool of choice used to calm my fears the day of the flight — I would have a drink at home right before I left for the airport, then head straight to the airport bar ASAP to polish off two more drinks right before boarding. And I would need a couple of drinks during the flight to help alleviate my “fight or flight” response of elevated heart rate and sweaty palms. It was horrible, not to mention that by the time I landed, I usually felt hungover and exhausted. But I am happy to say that my fears have improved somewhat, though they are definitely still there, and I now take prescription anti-anxiety meds that really do help — no more hangovers! I know I will probably always have a fear of flying, but I also know that I will never let this phobia prevent me from doing what I love — to travel the world!”

Alisa Roup Kennedy

“The greatest insecurity I face while traveling is that I might be disappointing someone, somewhere. Because I’ve crafted my life around travel, I have had to break various ‘real-world’ commitments, like leases, or skip important family functions due to time and space. I worry that my choice to live a life of travel breaks hearts, whether it be my close friends, new acquaintances, family members, bosses, and neighbors. I’m often greeted with encouragement and support from these people anyway, but I can still feel their pain every time I move on.”

Jill Kozak

“Missing a flight. I have been known to oversleep or somehow get a flight time wrong in my head (once I even fell asleep at the airport and missed my connecting flight). I always feel like such an amateur when an airline has to book me on a later flight because I showed up 40 minutes before departure instead of 45. But what I really dread is having to explain to a friend (or even worse, a colleague) that they can pick me up seven hours later from the airport because I missed my flight. Idiot!”

Andrew Delmenhorst

“Often we plan for hours and days to put together a trip. One of my greatest insecurities is when we get to the place and find it to be completely different from what we had imagined or planned.”

Pranesh Kumar PP

“I tend to have a few concerns while I’m traveling, however one hits the top of the list persistently: Money. Checking my bank account while abroad makes my heart beat faster than walking through a dark alleyway at night in Bangkok.”

Abby Gallagher

“Occasionally there are thoughts that stir in the back of my mind of everything I’ve left behind. I have been away from home for two years and have no idea when I am returning. Sometimes I think of the stable life that I have thrown away, for what? Travel? I have missed important milestone events like weddings, babies, and was also unable to be there as much as I would have liked when one of my closest friends battled depression. Sometimes I feel selfish, sometimes I feel irresponsible, sometimes I want to go home. But home to what? I haven’t seen my friends in two years. We made a promise to keep in touch via email and Skype, but time kills the best of intentions. As time passed and lives got busy, I started hearing from them less and less, and I too was guilty of not keeping in touch. I still get updated with the milestones, but I have no idea of day-to-day struggles or happiness, and I’m reminded of how it’s the little things that make up a life. My greatest insecurity as a traveler? The fear that I no longer belong at home.”

Stacey Kalinnikova

“I’m often insecure about not speaking other languages. While I was in Germany, I met a number of people my age who could speak three to five languages fluently. Luckily for me, English was always among these, and we had little difficulty communicating. But I was impressed by (and envious) of the way their conversations would jump casually from English to German to Italian.”

Sachi Ainge

“Not being able to stop. Five countries in five years — wonderful! But where is home? Do I have to pack everything up again? (How have I managed to collect even more stuff?!)”

Philippa King

“My greatest concern as a traveler is that I will accidentally offend someone at my destination because of a lack of knowledge of the cultural norms. I’ve traveled in places where there are still male-only cafes, where it’s indecent to walk into a church with your limbs uncovered, and where you can get a bad reputation for being a female alone with a male. Everyone has their own perception colored by the glass of their local culture and their upbringing. While these differences make the world rich and vibrant with variety, those same differences cause me much mental anguish as I concern myself with accidentally offending someone simply through our differences. Then, there’s the additional anxiety that I will naively place myself in an unsavory situation due to lack of knowledge about my locale.”

Morgan Sheets

“Theft! I carry a lot of gear, expensive cameras, lenses, tripod, laptop, hard drives etc… As a photographer I need all that. And I’m often worried that I could get mugged, or lose something on the way.”

Daniel Nahabedian

“Definitely the first attempts at language. My brain knows what I want to say but my lips stumble through pronunciation. Knowing I’m coming across like a stammering, sputtering, child always turns my cheeks red. Double insecurity points if what I’m trying to express is meant to be angry. Nothing less intimidating than a cranky foreigner communicating in broken babel-speak.”

Justin Guerra

“Safety is my biggest insecurity. I’m very cautious to tell people when I’m traveling alone.”

Betty

Flight patterns will blow your mind

THERE IS A SCIENCE to flight patterns that most people don’t realize. This visualization of the most common flight patterns around the world is super trippy, but also puts things into perspective. It made me realize just how many flights take off each day, and how close they are to each other while in the air. While it seems overwhelming, it also helps me appreciate how safe and technically advanced the aviation industry is.

H/T to The Shortlist.

On leaving Hawaii for the mainland

Photo: Adam G

1. That “no shirt, no shoes” policy is for real.

Going from the beach to a restaurant or store now requires a wardrobe change.

2. People are always bringing up McLovin.

Ugh. Just. Ugh.

3. There are roads where the speed limit is more than 55mph.

On-ramps become major stressors, and merging is now your worst nightmare. And then you miss your exit because no one will let you through. After you fail to exit, someone will honk, ride your tail, and flip you the bird while cutting you off.

4. Concerns about smog are as serious as those about vog.

At least you knew vog was coming from Kilauea, but this? You have no idea what this crap is.

5. You have to translate your pidgin.

You find yourself giving language lessons on the meaning of words such as “shoots” and “mean” just so people can understand half of what you say.

6. You have to remember the names and numbers of highways and freeways.

Not to mention the oh-so-major differences between east and west, street and avenues. (They’ll get ya every time.)

7. You have to survive without a Kama’aina discount.

I mean, it’s like a student discount for life.

8. No stores carry spam musubi, loco mocos, Hawaiian Sun juices, or mochi.

Just some li hing mui powder and you could survive, but nope, can’t even find that in the ethnic section at the grocery store.

Clockwise from bottom left: (1) spam musubi — HawaiianBarbecue.com, (2) li hing powder — Wikimedia, (3) loco moco — HawaiianBarbecue.com, (4) mochi — Wikimedia

9. People wear sweatshirts and wetsuits to the beach.

How is it that the closer you get to water, the more miserable the beach day becomes? You have to layer up to enjoy the surf and sunshine?

10. All your questions end in “yeah?”

And everyone notices but you.

11. Your slippers have now become flip-flops and sandals.

It’s stupid, but you wear the warmest shoes and clothes you have once the temperature drops below 70 degrees anyways, so it’s not that big of a deal.

12. Having to explain which island you’re from, especially if it’s the Big Island, is a major hassle.

Because technically the name of the Big Island is the island of Hawaii, but you know they will probably get it wrong anyway. Every island is Honolulu.

13. No one believes you moved to the mainland by choice.

Yes, once people find out you’re from Hawaii, they will envy your very existence because they all know Hawaii is where it’s at.

How to make a real caipirinha [vid]

EVERY BRAZILIAN IS BORN with the uncanny talent for preparing caipirinhas. It’s like samba dancing.

No, it’s not, I’m kidding.

In fact, one annoying cliché Brazilians face when traveling abroad is the, “Hey, make a caipirinha!” shout out. Especially if the host lacks cachaça, sugar, ice, or lemons. Because that, plus a sharp knife, is all a proper caipirinha recipe requires. The English-subtitled video above will help you gringos master the art of this refreshing, sweet summer drink.

Just remember: Caipirinhas are strong alcoholic devils. Drink lots of water to avoid a nasty cachaça hangover the next morning.

Photo: rei-san

The 5 best running routes in Boston

Photo: Jacson Querubin

Short routes (under 3 miles)

These routes are the perfect length for beginners, day-drinkers, and the perpetually winded.

1. Public Garden and Boston Common

A loop around the perimeter of these adjacent parks is about a mile and a half long. You’ll get to cross the world’s smallest suspension bridge, get a glimpse of the State House and the gorgeous Federalist-style buildings on Beacon Hill, and trot along the Freedom Trail for a minute. In the afternoon, you can spot cult-like groups of maniacally grinning people twerking en masse or slowly fighting invisible ninjas in the Common.

If you want to incorporate a little speed workout into your routine, just venture too close to a swan. It’ll chase you halfway around the park, gnashing its creepy little tooth razors at you while making a sound like an elephant stepping on a kazoo. If you get overwhelmed by your athletic moves, refuel with food-truck fried dough and marvel at its similarity to your pasty thigh. Maybe those $50 ultramarathon-grade spandex shorty shorts weren’t the best choice at this early stage in your exercise regimen. Moving on!

2. Charles River from the Mass Ave to Longfellow Bridges

This route covers about three miles along the river. You’ll get to heave by Back Bay on the Boston side before crossing the Mass Ave Bridge to Cambridge. As you cruise by Central and Kendall Squares, you’ll have the opportunity to fart in the general direction of all the MIT dweebs and pretentious hipsters skulking along in their skinny jeans and lipliner-enhanced frowns.

For a beer break, stop at the Cambridge Brewing Company and sip a locally brewed Spring Training IPA. They have an outdoor patio, so the summer breeze will carry your exercise musk away. Refreshed, proceed to the Longfellow Bridge, fart at all the fancy doctors at Mass General, and head along the river until you’re back where you started.

3. Jamaica Pond

This is another mile-and-a-half route, and well worth the trip down to JP, a neighborhood that’s often overlooked by visitors to Boston. Hop on the 39 bus to South Huntington St or take the Orange Line to Stony Brook, and it’s a short walk (or jog!) from either.

The Pond’s smooth, placid water is surrounded by weeping willows, and you can rent a kayak, rowboat, or sailboat here too. Enjoy plentiful opportunities for parkouring around couples getting engagement photos. People fish in the pond, and I once saw a (potentially high and/or drunk) person rip all his clothes off and leap screaming into the water, so you could try some aquatic cross-training if you’re feeling adventurous.

Medium routes (4-7 miles)

4. Jamaica Pond to the Arboretum

If you’ve finished your run around the Pond and you’re still feeling fresh, continue on to the Arnold Arboretum. Just jog down the Arborway and you’ll be there in no time. This 281-acre hilly landscape is full of manicured gardens, quiet meadows, and shallow streams.

You’ll almost definitely get lost in here, so bring a snack, a book, and maybe a sketchpad in your running backpack. And watch out for nudists (slightly NSFW)! Those JP hipsters can get a little too artsy sometimes.

5. The Harborwalk

As its name so eloquently implies, this walkway runs all along the Boston Harbor. Even though it’s not called the Harborwheeze, I encourage you to slow-jog it. If you start at Rowes Wharf and double back once you hit the bridge to Charlestown, you’ll cover six miles.

This takes you by several delicious seafood spots on the waterfront — try the Boston Sail Loft for delicious clam chowder and a great view of the Harbor. You can also make a pit stop at Mike’s Pastry in the North End for a pyloric-valve-destroying array of cannoli options before staggering to the Black Rose or the Littlest Bar in the Financial District for your end-of-run celebratory vat of Guinness. If you follow the Freedom Trail across the bridge and run back, you’ll hit eight miles.

The waterfront area of Charlestown is nothing like The Town would have you believe. You can check out the USS Constitution in the Navy Yard before galumphing down tree-lined streets to the Bunker Hill Memorial.

Long runs (over 8 miles)

If you’re trying to run over eight miles, I think you’re getting uncomfortably aggressive. I recommend bringing a water belt, map of all available toilets on your route, and smelling salts in the likely event you get the vapors and need to be revived.

The best way to accomplish this slow train to your own destruction is to knit together a few of the above runs. Most are part of the Emerald Necklace, which is a fairly seamless park system that runs through the city. Be sure to stop at all the bars and restaurants, or you may die of starvation and excessive sobriety.

May you sear retinas with your hot new beach bod.

13 signs you've become an Omani

Image: Charles Roffey

1. You use your hazard lights more than your indicators.

During my five years in the Sultanate, I tried to win the hearts and minds of the Omanis with my exemplary driving — always using my turn indicators, maintaining lane discipline, stopping at stop signs, etc. It resulted in drivers speeding up behind me when I signaled, so I wouldn’t momentarily be in front of them as I attempted to pass the alfalfa or camel farmer with no particular place to go except in my way. Using turn indicator lights is actually considered a sign of weakness, and is reserved for those who need to be mindful of others.

Hazard lights, on the other hand, are very useful and should be used under any provocation — raindrops, a wedding procession, a heard of goats crossing the road, Oman winning a football match, etc. And if someone is tailgating you, just turn on the hazards and they’ll more than likely back off because they think you’re having car trouble.

2. Your dashboard has a box of tissues on it.

This is not only an Omani peculiarity, but an Arab one in general. In Saudi Arabia, for example, when you fill up your car with petrol, they’ll actually give you a complimentary box of tissues. Small wonder you’ll spot them on the dashboards of cars all over the Middle East, usually in a baroque-style tissue box holder. Napkins just haven’t caught on the way tissues have. If you ask for a napkin in a restaurant, expect puzzled looks.

3. You think double and triple parking is okay.

In Arab terms, the world is your parking lot. You can park on the on-and-off ramps to the freeway, actually on the freeway, and on roundabouts too (a very popular cop hangout). If your parking job happens to block a lane of traffic, malesh — traffic can go around you.

The opportune time to witness double and triple parking mayhem is during Friday prayers. Inside the mosque, everyone is lined up in neat orderly rows. Outside, however, the parking lot and surrounding streets and even the sidewalks are in complete chaos.

4. You overuse the word Inshallah.

The idea is to bring God into each and everything you do, all the time. Life has already been written, and the will of Allah is all. And since it is, that conveniently provides wiggle room if you aren’t really that keen on going to your student Abdullah’s cousin’s sister’s wedding anyway. Just tag on an Inshallah after anything you say (including things that are actually happening at the moment), and you’ll not only appear religious and cultured, but you’ll simultaneously create a way out for yourself that your interlocutor is perfectly aware of.

Inshallah is a get-out-of-whatever-free-card, with an embedded duality characteristic of life in the Arab world — saying one thing, and meaning another.

5. You leave the plastic on your car seats until it falls off.

The newer your car is, the better and the more prestigious you will appear. One way to show the world your new Nissan Patrol is still spanking new is to leave the just-from-the-dealer plastic on the seats as long as possible. The only problem is that the window tint has to be light enough for everyone to see that you’re sporting the plastic on the seats. The darker the tint on the windows, the more mysterious you are, but then how are you going to show the world your car is still new with the plastic on the seats if they can’t see in? This is indeed a dilemma.

6. You think “hellohowareyoufine?” is an appropriate greeting.

This all-encompassing chunk is most often employed by Omani taxi drivers to ‘show off’ their English with the hope of coaxing unsuspecting expats into their cab so they can charge exorbitant fees. As taxis are completely unregulated in Oman — except that you must be Omani, wear a dishdasha (a floor-length shirt-dress for men) and paint your car orange and white — the taxi drivers charge whatever they think they can get away with.

7. You consider silverware to be ostentatious.

When given the choice, most Omanis prefer to eat with their right hand from a communal plate, rather than with a fork or spoon from their own plate. The germs on their hands are actually good for the body, they claim, and the more hands and germs in the plate, the better. Just don’t ask why they wash their hands before they eat, if this is the case.

8. You accept one-word answers like “Muscat,” “Haram,” or “Change” as legitimate responses to the question “Why?”

In a benign dictatorship such as Oman, change in governmental procedures can happen overnight. Those decisions come from Muscat, the capital and the seat of power in the Sultanate. Questioning why something has suddenly changed is tantamount to heresy and treason combined. It will often be responded to with tongue tisking and interjections of Haram, meaning “forbidden” or “shame” depending on the context. In this context, it actually means both.

9. You’ve stopped asking why.

After so much tongue tisking and Haram!s being thrown at you, you’ll come to realize asking “Why?” is an exercise in futility. Like any other culture, Omanis are taught that their way is the correct way of living and since it is, there’s no reason to question it.

10. You think the dishdasha is stylish.

The novelty of seeing men in white dresses, or dishdasha, has worn off. You are now a discerning member of the GCC fashion police. You can tell an Omani, Kuwaiti, and Bahraini from a Qatari, Emirati or Saudi with just a glance at their kandura (what they call a dishdasha in the rest of the Persian Gulf countries). The difference between a kumma and a mussar is as obvious to you as the difference between anabbeya and a shayla — i.e., there is none.

11. You don’t find any sexual connotation in the phrase “girl passage.”

Okay, you still do, but you don’t giggle about it anymore. Oman is progressive in that it is one of the only countries in the Khaleej that has government-sponsored coeducational colleges. Nevertheless, for the sake of propriety, males and female have designated hallways or “passages” so as to minimize contact with the opposite sex. Just remember, boys in girl passages are strictly haram until marriage.

12. You have wasta.

Glossed broadly as “influence” or “clout,” wasta is a cultural phenomenon that pervades every aspect of life in the Middle East. Like most Arabs, Omanis are obsessed with it. They call it “Vitamin Wow” because that’s the effect it has on people. Just as vitamins are essential for daily living, so is wasta for life in Arabic countries.

If you’re not qualified for a job but your uncle has a friend in HR at Nawras, for example, the job won’t go to the most qualified, it’ll go to the one with the most wasta — you. And if you can’t be bothered to wait in line for a driver’s license, a doctor’s appointment, or a court date, just flex your wasta and watch how quickly doors open and exceptions to the rules are made. Most will admit it’s a scourge, but clamor for more nonetheless.

13. When you see haram behavior in a film, you tisk the actors.

Tisking is when you stick the tip of your tongue on the alveolar ridge (the place where the hard palate meets the teeth) and with the help of some tongue suction, you make a clicking kind of noise while shaking your head. Omani men and women frequently tisk to show disapproval and/or displeasure. It’s used to curb haram behavior through public shaming — that the actors in the films are not paying attention is of little consequence. Shaming someone (even disembodied actors in a film) raises your status by default. And Omanis, like most Arabs, love status.

Barefoot in Yangon

Photo: Jose Javier Martin Espartosa

The white marble platform of the Shwedagon Pagoda is warm under my bare feet. Yangon, Myanmar, is already steamy, and it’s only 8am. Up here the hum of engines and sharp bursts of car horns below sound distant, but the humidity is as thick as it is on the root-tangled streets.

A smiling woman in uniform points at my ticket. It’s a kitsch photograph of the gold-plated cone of the Shwedagon. She checks the date stamped on it while I look at the creamy smudges of thanaka on her cheeks — tree-bark paste that’s dried like thick brush strokes. She nods and points down a quiet alley between rows of shrines.

I set off slowly. There are reverent groups of men in dark sarongs and smart shirts, women in bright oranges and pinks. I find myself looking at everyone’s toes. Their bare toes poke out bold and separated. They’re not jammed together, not like the toes of the old French women I’ve met, swollen and bulging with bunions in tight, low-heeled loafers. I look down at my own feet, my Zimbabwean feet that’ve seen the insides of too many winter boots. I find myself hoping no one notices how my big toes have started to point inwards, because in my heart I’m the kind of person who has the country feet of hot countries, and since I can’t speak a word of the Myanmar language, my toes are all that can speak for me. I want them to say we have something in common.

The spiritual citadel of the Shwedagon is bustling with activity, but all I can hear is the quiet mutter of voices and the tinkle of small bells. Each shrine holds a different version of the Buddha. In one he’s cloaked in gold, in another his untroubled face rests at the centre of a strobing, multi-coloured halo.

At the end of the alley of shrines I join the inner circle around the base of the towering golden cone, or stupa. Each part of the gilded stupa has a beautiful name: the inverted alms bowl, the lotus petals, the banana bud. The gleaming pagoda creates a horizon line that no part of my experience can relate to. The power it commands is literal. Even on this cloudy day it glows with weighty riches.

I want to stand and stare at the monks in their crimson robes. I want to watch their fingers flick through their prayer beads. I want to ask them about the tattoos on their feet, but I don’t. I keep walking slowly around the wide golden base.

“There you go,” he says, “The danger is gone.”

He sounds so certain and his voice is so soothing that I believe him.

Two monks sitting cross-legged on the raised terrace of a shrine catch my attention. The one on the left is wearing a pair of dark shades. The one on the right is wearing a pair of wire-framed spectacles, and our eyes meet. I panic and consider turning away when he mimes taking a picture and points to his friend. I point to my camera, eyebrows raised. He nods, and I walk towards them.

There’s a sudden burst of dialogue, and the one in shades gets up. He looks angry, with a face like his friend has played one too many tricks for this to be funny. I falter. I’m just an annoying tourist with a camera, but this is my only chance. I want his permission. I gesture again to check that it’s OK. The one in shades is standing next to a statue of the Buddha with his back to me, but the monk in spectacles obliges, caught out by his own joke.

He draws himself up, his spine straightening. A sudden, striking serenity washes over his face. I snap a few shots and show them to him, careful not to come too close.

* * *

I’m standing in front of my golden zodiac animal. In Myanmar, the day of the week you were born on is of great astrological importance. There’s a sign for each day of the week and two for Wednesdays. My sign is the lion. I’m watching visitors pour cups of water onto its golden head when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to find a small man with a cowlick of grey hair and thick Coke-bottle glasses.

“Hello, my name is Alexander.”

I look at his crisp white shirt and long sarong. I see his bare, hot-country toes. He seems timeless, like he’d belong just as well if this were the 1940s. He seems like the kind of man that would own a typewriter. He smiles.

“You were born on a Tuesday? Let me show you what to do.”

He teaches me how many cups of water I must pour onto the lion’s head and how many I must pour onto the Buddha to chase away bad spirits.

“Now you must make a wish,” he says, and I silently wish that everything will be OK.

“Come, did you know there’s the footprint of the Buddha here?”

I let him lead me through the maze of shrines, happy to have a friend to decode this place. Inside a dark room there’s a large basin full of water, its edges draped with garlands of fragrant white flowers with long yellow anthers.

“This is his footprint.”

I look at the ornamental tub of placid water. I only feel slightly disappointed and try to remind myself that it’s the symbolism that counts.

Alexander dips his hand into the water and runs it through my short hair.

“There you go,” he says, “The danger is gone.”

He sounds so certain and his voice is so soothing that I believe him.

Out in the daylight there’s an awkward silence, and I realize he’s waiting for something.

“Would you mind giving me a little something for the tour?” he asks.

“Oh, yes, of course,” I say and fumble with my bag, only slightly disappointed.

“50 kyat would be fine. I’m saving to pay for an eye operation,” he says and points to his thick glasses. I hand him the note, and we continue to walk together a little.

“Are you married?” he asks.

“No, no I’m not,” I smile.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty,” I lie.

He stops and looks at me with paternal gravity.

“Ah, it’s too late…”

5 California trip ideas for families

MORE AND MORE REPORTS are trickling in about the potential problems that arise with kids spending an excessive amount of time staring at screens. It can affect their mental well-being, it can make them less active, and, as all parents know, it renders them a lot less engaged with the world around them. So naturally, when planning a family vacation, a good priority is to seek out a place that will get kids off their phones, away from TVs and computers, and out into the real world.

One of the best ways to do this is to take them into nature, and one of the best places in the country to do this is California. The Golden State has more national parks than any other — nine of the total 59 — literally hundreds of state parks, and an incredible diversity of landscapes, from beaches to mountains to deserts. Here are 5 ideas for quick weekend trips that will make your kids forget all about their electronic devices.

1. Shasta Cascade

Burney Falls. Photo: Miles Sabin

The Shasta Cascade region comprises the southernmost part of the Cascade Range that extends north to the border with Canada and beyond. The mountain chain is known for being home to a number of volcanoes, including California’s Lassen Peak. Lassen erupted in the early 20th century, and as a result, much of the surrounding land was utterly transformed. In 1916, the area was designated Lassen Volcanic National Park (among the oldest national parks in the system).

Thanks to this volcanic activity, the surrounding landscape is dramatic, and the national and state parks services have done a really great job preserving the region. Aside from the national park, there are dozens of national forests, national monuments, national wildlife refuges, and state parks in this northeastern corner of California. Hikers can join up with sections of the Pacific Crest Trail, climb Mount Shasta, visit the beautiful Burney Falls (a favorite site of Teddy Roosevelt), and even walk through underground lava tunnels (which, I’m not kidding, contain a thing called “lavasicles”) at Lava Beds National Monument.

No, there’s no cell reception inside a lava tunnel, but do you think your kids will notice?

2. Death Valley and the deserts

Badwater Basin, Death Valley. Photo: Pedro Szekely

On the opposite end of the spectrum from the cool northern mountains is California’s desert region in the southeast of the state. The area contains three deserts: the Great Basin, the Colorado, and the Mojave. While the word “desert” is typically associated with others like “empty” and “barren,” those are hardly accurate descriptors of this region. It makes for a great sightseeing trip and offers a ton of outdoor, screen-free activities.

First, you’ve got Death Valley, the lowest, driest, and hottest place in the country. The lowest elevation in North America is at Badwater Basin, which you can easily get to by car. Or go hiking on the dunes at Mesquite Flats, one of the few places in America’s national parks where there aren’t trails you have to stay on.

If you head southwest you’ll be in the Colorado Desert, which is part of the larger Sonoran Desert. There you’ll find the gorgeous Joshua Tree National Park, with Palm Springs just down the road. While there’s certainly plenty of wildlife to find in Joshua Tree, you can also detour to the Living Desert Zoo and Gardens in Palm Desert if you don’t want to search — the zoo contains 150 different species of animals in both American and African desert habitats.

3. The High Sierra

On the shores of Lake Tahoe. Photo: Matt Molinari

In the eastern part of the state, within the High Sierra region, is California’s Yosemite National Park. You’ve probably heard of that one, though, so let’s look at some of your other options. First off, if your family is the road-tripping type, just 80 miles from the sub-sea-level elevations of Death Valley is Mount Whitney, the highest point in the contiguous United States. That drive — a little under three hours — will take you through both the majesty of the desert and the forests of Sequoia National Park.

Sequoia is home General Sherman, the largest tree in the world, as well as the High Sierra Trail. If hiking is a bit too rugged, or your kids are younger, you can always take them glamping (“glamor camping” — basically just really comfortable camping) in Sequoia. And Sequoia is adjacent to yet another of California’s national parks, Kings Canyon.

To the north, there’s great skiing in the Lake Tahoe area if you’re visiting in winter, or parasailing if you’re going in the summer. For the former, though, don’t overlook Mammoth Mountain, which has the added bonus of being located in striking distance of several hot springs — the perfect way to round out a day of skiing.

4. The North Coast

Exploring the redwoods. Photo: Alejandro De La Cruz

The North Coast of California is much less populated than the central and southern coasts, so there will be much less in the way of distractions for you and your kids, but no shortage of gorgeous views. The area is known as the “Redwood Empire,” thanks to Redwood National Park and its associated state parks. One of the best (and easiest) ways to see the redwoods is on the Avenue of the Giants, a 31-mile stretch of road through Humboldt Redwoods State Park. But really, anywhere you can get the kids into the middle of a grove of 300ft redwoods is an experience they’ll keep with them for life.

Just west of the forests, you have unparalleled views of the Pacific Coast. One of the cooler experiences you can have here is crashing for a few nights at a lightkeeper’s house, a bed and breakfast near the Point Cabrillo Lighthouse just north of Mendocino. Another convenient aspect of this region is that it can be easily combined with a trip to the Bay Area and the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, which includes Alcatraz, Muir Woods National Monument, and a large number of incredible campgrounds and hiking trails.

5. Gold Country

Panning for gold. Photo: David Goehring

California’s Gold Country is best known, not surprisingly, as the home of the 1849 California Gold Rush. Comprising sections of the western Sierra Nevada and Sacramento Valley, it has a ton of great outdoor and family activities. There are many towns, of both the ghost and very much alive-and-kicking variety, centered around mining history.

Check out the 19th-century buildings on display in Nevada City, or go gold panning on the Mokelumne River, where they’ll let you keep the gold you find (the panning is followed by a barbecue, so it’s a win even if you don’t find any gold).

Five bucks says that’ll motivate your kids to put down the phone.

There’s also world-class whitewater (of many different classes and difficulties) on the American River, you can go apple-picking in Placerville, and you’re always within an easy drive of the state capital, Sacramento, which you can tour by bike, train, or even steamboat. The only reason your family will need a cell phone on this trip is for the camera.

Our friends at Visit California asked Matador how we #dreambig in California. This post is part of a series we’re publishing to answer that question. Click here for more.