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7 reasons you're missing out on life

Photo: Matilde Zacchigna

1. Because you haven’t failed enough

Because you’re comfortable in your mediocrity. Because you choose not to try.

Because it’s easier to talk about learning that new language than actually learning it.

Because you think everything is too hard or too complicated, so you’ll just ‘sit this one out,’ or maybe you’ll ‘do it tomorrow.’

Because you hate your job but won’t get a new one. Because it’s easy to reject rejection.

Because while you’re sitting around failing to try, I’m out there trying to fail, challenging myself, learning new things, and failing as fast as possible.

Because as I fail, I learn and then adjust my course to make sure my path is always forward. Like annealed steel, I’ve been through the fire and pounded into shape. The shape of a sword with polished edges and a razor-sharp blade that’ll cut you in half if you’re not equally hardened.

2. Because you care what others think about you

Because you have to fit in.

Because you believe that being different is only cool if you’re different in the same way that other people are different.

Because you’re afraid to embrace your true self for fear of how the world will see you. You think that because you judge others, this means that those people must, in turn, be judging you.

Because you care more about the stuff you have as opposed to the things you’ve done.

Because while you’re out spending your money on new outfits, new cars, overpriced meals, or nights at the bar, I’ll be investing in myself. And while you try to fit in with the world I’ll make the world fit in with me.

Because I will recklessly abandon all insecurities and expose my true self to the world. I will become immune to the impact of your opinion and stand naked in a crowd of ideas, comfortable in knowing that while you married the mundane I explored the exceptional.

3. Because you think you’re smarter than you are

Because you did what everyone else did; you studied what they studied and read what they read.

Because you learned what you had to learn in order to pass their tests, and you think that makes you smart.

Because you think learning is only something people do in schools.

Because while you were away at college, I was studying life. Because instead of learning about the world in a classroom, I went out and learned it by living.

Because I know more than any piece of paper you could ever frame from a university. Because smart is not what you learn — it’s how you live.

Because I might not have a degree, but I challenge you to find a topic that I can’t talk to you about cohesively.

Because I could pass your tests if I had to, but you couldn’t stand for a single second in the face of the tests that life has thrown me. Tests that are not graded on a bell curve or by percentages, tests that are graded by one simple stipulation: survival!

4. Because you don’t read

Because you read the things you’re required to read or nothing at all.

Because you think history is boring and philosophy is stupid.

Because you would rather sit and watch E! or MTV instead of exploring something new, instead of diving headfirst into the brain of another person in an attempt to better understand the world around you.

Because you refuse to acknowledge that all the power in the world comes from the words of those that lived before us. That anything you desire can be had by searching through the multitude of words that are available to us now more abundantly than ever before.

Because you’re probably not reading this article, even though you know you should.

Because the people that are reading this already know these things.

Because you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.

5. Because you lack curiosity

Because you get your news from copycat members of the state-controlled media.

Because you’re unwilling to ask this simple question, “What if it’s all a lie?” and accept the possibility that maybe it is. That, just maybe, the methods of mass media are under direct orders to keep you distracted.

Because you call me a know-it-all but refuse to call yourself a know-nothing-at-all.

Because I thirst for knowledge, regardless of the topic.

Because while you’re busy playing Candy Crush, or Megapolis, I’m reading about string theory and quantum mechanics.

Because while you waste your time with Tosh.0, I’m learning how to edit video, build websites, and design mobile apps.

Because if we were to go heads-up in a debate, I would crush you. I would make it a point to defeat my own argument, from every imaginable angle, in order to understand everything you might be able to use against me.

Because I would dedicate myself to understanding both sides of the argument so thoroughly that I could argue your side for you and win, even after having just handed you a defeat in the same debate.

6. Because you don’t ask enough questions

Because you don’t question authority.

Because you don’t question yourself.

Because you don’t understand the power of properly placed questioning in life, respectful disagreements, and standing up for what you know to be right in the face of someone telling you otherwise. Unable to question reality, stuck in a self-imposed survival strategy within a Matrix-style monotony.

Because I know that you’ll give me all the information I need to destroy you by letting you talk.

Because I study human behaviors, and you ignore everyone but yourself.

Because I watch how you say the things you say just as closely as I listen to what you say, and you say way too much!

Because control comes not from spewing your ignorance like some incurable case of logorrhea but from properly structuring the context of your questions.

Because I study the premise of your argument and destroy it from the ground level before you even get a chance to establish your ideas.

7. Because you can’t handle the truth

Because you refuse to admit that you don’t even know the things you don’t know.

Because there isn’t an article online that would make up for all the time you’ve wasted in life.

Because even if I told you everything could be different tomorrow, you’d wait until then to begin doing anything about it.

Because even when you think I’m not, I’m aware of my surroundings.

Because you think that since I have not acknowledged you, it means that I have not seen you.

Because you walk around with your head up your ass, oblivious to the world around you, blissfully ignorant of the reality that sits so close to your face that if you stuck your tongue out, just once, you would taste it and realize how delicious the truth actually is.

Because you would become an instant addict, unable to pull yourself from the teat of truth, finally able to understand your lack of understanding. And then you would see. Then you would know the only thing holding you back from doing something truly amazing is you.

This post was originally published at Raymmar.com and is reprinted here with permission.

The post 7 reasons you’ll never do anything amazing with your life appeared first on Matador Network.

Wind turbines vs. a hurricane [vid]

It’s possible that, aside from providing a renewable source of clean energy, wind turbines may be able to play a role in slowing oncoming hurricanes and their effects. Simulations done by Stanford professor of civil and environmental engineering Mark Jacobson have found that turbines may actually help to slow the speed of the winds coming from hurricanes. And since turbines tend to sit just offshore, this would slow the winds before they reached the mainland, where they are the most destructive.

The amount of turbines that would need to be built would be huge — Jacobson’s study found that 78,000 turbines would have been required on the Gulf Coast to seriously cut back the damage from Hurricane Katrina. But unlike other proposed measures, like a sea wall, the wind turbines would pay for themselves by producing clean energy.

While separate studies found that hurricanes could do significant damage to a small number of the turbines themselves in the Gulf Coast, a similar risk wouldn’t exist for the East Coast. So those of us in the East wouldn’t need to worry about quite as many Hurricane Sandy’s in the future.

Can we please get moving a bit faster on wind energy, already?

The post How offshore wind turbines could prevent the next Sandy appeared first on Matador Network.

How to be a Latin American hippie

Photo: Haceme un 14

1. Talk the talk.

Get rid of your glaring gringo accent and learn to talk like an artesano. Greet other artesanos as amigos, even when you’re meeting for the first time. Use buena onda to describe anyone (or anything) you like. Throw around the English word “hippie” (pronounced with a Spanish accent: he-ppy) as an adjective.

Learn some regional slang to quickly understand your Latin American friends: parce means friend from Colombia, che is the ubiquitous greeting / salutation / word to insert after a sentence from Argentinos and Uruguayos, chévere sounds way cooler than “cool” and is often used in Peru and Ecuador. And learn to recognize curses: mierda, carajo, cabrón — just refrain from practicing them on your newfound amigos.

Get a soundtrack.

If you haven’t listened to them yet, get familiar with Calle 13, and fast. The group hails from Puerto Rico but are spokespeople for hippies all over Latin America. Their music is an eclectic blend of everything, from throbbing reggaeton and hip hop to jazz and tango with a sprinkling of indigenous instruments.

Latinoamérica is the de-facto anthem that celebrates the spirit of the continent in all its beauty, pains, and contradictions. Sing along to the beautiful chorus: “Tu no puedes comprar al viento, tu no puedes comprar al sol, tu no puedes comprar la lluvia, tu no puedes comprar el calor”…you can’t buy the clouds or the colors, and you can’t buy my happiness or my pains.

If you’re more of a romantic, listen to La Vuelta Del Mundo, which is all about how you should ditch your office job (“la renta, el sueldo, el trabajo en la oficina: lo cambie por las estrellas y por huertos de harina”) and travel the world with the lover of your dreams. It’s sweet and inspiring, and will also win over your hippie sweetheart.

Pick a craft (or a few).

You can’t be an artesano without an art. Mastering one will take years of dedication, but you can at least sample a few of the more popular options and see which catches your fancy.

Don’t know where to start? Try macramé — bracelets (and other jewelry) woven from patterns of knots. The simplest bracelets take just a few minutes to make, and the more complicated resemble art pieces and can take hours of concentration. Ask the artesanos where to buy hielo, a versatile, waxy macramé material from Brazil, and start learning on the road. Just make sure you can find a mentor who is as excited about imparting knowledge as you are to learn.

If you’re musically inclined, carry around your instrument, be it a miniature guitar, a djembe drum, or a set of Andean panpipes. Practice in the proximity of the artesanos and inevitably one will ask to play your instrument or join in. Learn new songs as you travel and practice in your abundant idle afternoons.

Have great hand-eye coordination? Learn malabares. Whether it’s juggling with balls and clubs, or something with more bite (like knives or fire), anything goes as long as you can make it a good show. Adopt a distinctive costume (maybe a red clown nose) and develop the charisma to be the star of the show.

Learn to hustle.

Now that you’ve learned how to make beautiful macramé jewelry and can successfully juggle five balls while singing Calle 13, it’s time to put those skills to good use: making money. Oh yes, traveling hippies have to work! In fact, being an artesano IS a job. Set up an elegant display for your jewelry on the sidewalk of a tourist-laden street or the plaza of a city, or wander around and offer your wares to locals. Do malabares at stop lights and sing your Spanish ballads in welcoming cafes for tips.

Clever artesanos can sell anything, even things that don’t fit the usual criteria. An artesano from Buenos Aires talked the owner of a restaurant in Samaipata into paying him to create a version of the menu in spotty English. A frighteningly friendly Colombiano in Popayan had been traveling for years selling cheap, pre-made Colombian souvenirs and stapled copies of his own poetry about love and God. An Australian girl and Latino hippie sold vegetarian and vegan dishes and desserts in Plaza Bolivar of Cochabamba. Artesanos can travel for years as hustling nomads.

Become a collector.

If you’re a true artesano, your backpack will be big, and you’ll be toting other things besides: a tent, a sleeping bag, the supplies for your crafts. Your changes of clothes may be few, but you’ll be gathering and carrying more important things than that. Become an avid collector of natural wonders — stones and crystals, feathers and bones. Keep an eye out on your next hike for unexpected treasures. Use them to make jewelry or as props to display the jewelry.

Meet a hippie-artist friend? Tuck the sketches she draws you in your journal. You’ll also be collecting recommendations: names of places to visit, shamans to look up. It may not be entirely practical, but what part of your wandering life aspires to that? Trade or give away your collection to other artesanos or uninitiated backpackers, and keep a few as mementos of your journey, far more meaningful than digital photographs.

Find the hippie hot spots.

While artesanos are fairly ubiquitous in most major cities in Latin America, there are a few spots with an especially alluring buena onda. Hippies don’t only pass through, but stay for a while. These are perfect spots to hone your craft, befriend fellow artesanos, and get tips on your next destination.

Cuenca, Ecuador is a beautiful colonial city that’s also an artesano hub. The loads of American retirees and young backpackers make eager clients for your crafts, and you can bond with fellow artesanos from all over the world on the steps off Calle Hermano Miguel, admiring the sparkling river in Cuenca’s lush spring climate.

For a vacation from the hustling life, head to Samaipata in Bolivia. Stay at one of the camping / hostel sites — Jaguar Azul or El Jardin — and spend your nights drinking wine and smoking mota around a campfire. Have lunch at the tiny pizzeria with unpredictable hours run by two settled hippies, and go for breezy hikes in the sensuous green mountains that surround the small town.

Travel slow.

You can’t be an artesano with a packed itinerary, rushing for your next flight. Hippies take their time, getting to know each new destination by spending a few hours sitting in its central plaza and chatting up fellow artesanos. Forget about constant adventure tours and sightseeing — you’re better off spending leisurely afternoons sitting in the grass and making macramé.

The low costs, vast distances, and natural wonders of Latin America make it a hippie wonderland, so dive in and savor the artesano lifestyle. And when you get tired of your wanderings, you can always take your craft home and start an Etsy shop.

The post How to be a Latin American hippie appeared first on Matador Network.

States with the most passports

The post Which states have the most passports? appeared first on Matador Network.

Lessons I learned trekking in Nepal

STRADDLED BETWEEN THE ANNAPURNA MOUNTAINS and the Langtang Valley lies the comparatively undiscovered Manaslu region. A simple lack of infrastructure and the mild inconvenience of Manaslu’s restricted-area status means the region has been off limits to all but the hardiest of Himalayan trekkers prepared to get kitted out with tents and one week’s supply of food. Because of this, Manaslu has avoided the “touristification” that the other well-known treks have been subjected to.

That may change now. Teahouse accommodation is available along the whole route; accompanied by a compulsory guide, anybody with the correct permits can complete the circuit. Here’s what I leaned while trekking the newest teahouse trail on the Himalayan block.

1

Butter tea is not as bad as it sounds.
This drink, a kind of savoury tea soup, is really quite nice! Sitting around a Tibetan stove, with the temperature dipping to minus 10 degrees celsius beyond the door, and slurping away at a few cups of tea with added butter and salt is surprisingly comforting.





2

It’s worth dragging yourself away from a steaming pot of butter tea to brave the cold night sky.
With zero light pollution in the high Himalayas, the night skies are spectacular. Here, the Milky Way rises over a large Hani gate in Samagaon village.





3

Roads are not what they seem, or, rather, aren't roads at all.
As a fully paid up passenger, you are entirely obliged to get out and push the bus when the "roads" fail in the delivery of their only purpose (i.e. to be passable).





Intermission





All you need to know to trek the Manaslu Circuit in Nepal





The rainforest is not a Big Mac (and other lessons learned in Puyo, Ecuador)





Photo essay: Pokhara to Poon Hill on the Annapurna Circuit, Nepal












4

The quieter the river, the further the drop.
Tracing the roaring Budhi Gandaki river gorge for the first three days, the trek follows high paths blasted into the gorge walls by the Nepalese army (some parts as recently as 2008). As a soul that likes to keep his feet firmly on the ground, I rapidly learned if I could not hear the river, I was way up high and needn’t bother checking where it had gone.





5

Keep to the wall side.
This is particularly important when the river can’t be heard. Horse caravans like this are many and often. Get on the wrong side of a fast moving caravan and one slight nudge from a pony could spell disaster. My guide let me know this has happened before.





6

The gorge keeps on giving.
I will never ever, ever get too familiar with stunning vistas. The Budhi Gandaki has one at every turn.





7

Binoculars are fun–for all the wrong reasons.
Children beg for pens or chocolates at every village; giving in to such requests is not really "helpful," however. It only encourages more begging, and is usually followed by the patter of little feet running away with their new found riches. Simple interactions are better. I found most village kids liked these binoculars, but truly loved them with astonishment when worn backward. There’s something inherently fun about self-induced tunnel vision, however old you are.





8

There will always be traffic, wherever you go.
Early December proved to be a kind of "rush hour" in the Himalayan agricultural calendar. We were often sharing the path with shepherds moving their stock to lower pastures for the winter months.





9

Trees are dying, and I am (partly) responsible.
The simple act of doing a Nepalese teahouse trek presents issues to the local environment. I found this patch of cleared forest at 3,500 meters on the outskirts of Lao, a stunning village in the shadow of 6,000-meter-plus mountains on all sides. This area of forest was cleared 30 years ago, and shows little sign of recovery. Every teahouse built and every fire burned that provides comfort to weary trekkers uses wood taken from the rare and fragile habitat that, ironically, we have all come to see.





Intermission





Trekking New Zealand: The South Island beyond the Great Walks





Trekking and ice climbing in Iceland





How to: Independently trek Nepal’s Annapurna sanctuary












10

What’s in a name?
One bleak illustration of the high infant mortality rate in the upper stretches of the Nubri Valley is the unwillingness of some families to name their children before their fifth birthday. Put simply, many children will not make it that far–20% will not live past their first year. Infection is common with many children sporting cuts such as this. Without access to medicine or clean water, and little knowledge about sanitation (open defecation is common practice in villages off the main trail), serious diseases abound. A cholera outbreak wiped out half a village in the valley two years ago.





11

It’s not all doom and gloom.
With sustainable and responsible trekking, the increasing popularity of the Manaslu Circuit will go a long way in improving the lives of the people that live here. More tourists mean more money, and, perhaps more importantly for the immediate future, an expectation for decent sanitary conditions. Tourists expect this, but it can also reduce the risk of disease.





12

A Hani gate means home.
The site of a Hani gate, such as this one outside Sho village, was a beacon to my weary legs. It meant that (relative) comfort was not far away.





13

The air gets thin up there.
Noticeably so. The push from Samdo over Larke La Pass to Bhimtang involves a 1,000-meter ascent, a 1,000-meter descent, a 14-hour day starting in the "wee small hours" and ending at dusk, and peaking at 5,150 meters. This level of exertion lies just within the realms of safety when hiking at that elevation, and real attention has to be paid to yourself and your team. Acute mountain sickness can kill, and should not be underestimated.





14

Traffic with wheels breaks Manaslu’s spell.
Fourteen days on the trails of the Manaslu Circuit can be enchanting. The descent into Dharapani reunites us with vehicular access. 4x4s kicked up dust, honked their horns, and trundled past with Annapurna Circuit trekkers piled high in the back.





15

Be part of the solution.
The problems of poverty and the environmental issues associated with trekking are very real, but indulging in my passion for mountain scenery, culture, and nature needn’t exacerbate the issues. Responsibly done, trekking is going someway toward relieving the situation.

The post 15 lessons I learned trekking the Manaslu Circuit in Nepal appeared first on Matador Network.

What tourists always do in Maine

Photo: Tris Hussey

Maine: the land of plunging coastal cliffs, serene mountaintops, small communities, and Chinese-made lobster paraphernalia. Nearly 28 million tourists stampeded the Pine Tree State in 2012, a number only expected to rise in coming years.

Here’s what you can find most tourists doing.

Eating lobster ice cream

Lobster ice cream: sounds disgusting, is disgusting. Tiny frozen lobster chunks are swirled into homemade creamy vanilla ice cream to ensure that every last penny is milked from the obscene cash-cow teat that is Maine lobster.

Buying shit that says “Yessah!” and “Wicked!” on it

Did you come all the way up here, to the state that is primarily believed to be ‘just part of Canada,’ to spend 50 bucks on a tie-dyed pair of sweatpants with a moose on the ass? Or to buy a pillow with a blueberry on it? If you need a pillow with a blueberry on it, 20 bucks, I’ll do it. Serious inquiries only — my contact information is below.

Never leaving the corporate safety of the waterfront

An idea of a perfect vacation: Freezing your ass off on a whale watch tour in the harbor, probably not seeing any whales. Eating a lobster roll on the pier that’s probably composed of pre-packaged lobster and 90% mayonnaise. Having dinner at an ‘authentic’ Irish pub called ‘Paddy’s,’ where your waitress will probably speak to you in Leprechaun, and you’ll probably giggle over a $10 Guinness and scarf down a $25 shepherd’s pie.

Here’s what you should really do in Maine:

1. Swim in a swimming hole.

Maine is filled with precarious rope swings and skinny-dipping spots. Here are just two:

The Long Pond Cliffs

Do you enjoy jumping off of a 20-foot cliff into somewhat refreshing water on a hot August afternoon? So do Mount Desert Island’s locals. Here, you can watch absurdly athletic drunk kids front flip into Long Pond from an extremely high point. Or in turn, you can compete with the ‘shy pencil,’ a straight-legged and plugged-nose jump done from the out-of-sight and much lower right-hand corner of the ledge. Or you can say that you don’t want to get your hair wet and just sit there.

In Southwest Harbor, take Long Pond Road for a little over a mile, take a right onto an unmarked dirt road with a park sign, and park along the loop. The trail to the cliffs will be to your right.

The Lakewood Swimming Hole

Once rumored to be a popular nighttime hangout for the local gay community, Lakewood has recently become a hangout for the local pot-smoking and swimming-enthusiast community.

Located off of the unmarked Lakewood Pond Road in Bar Harbor (take the Crooked Road 0.7 miles and turn left), there’s a small ‘parking lot’ and a path that’ll take you to the water. I suggest BYOF-ing (Bring Your Own Floatie). In which case I’d recommend jumping onto your flotation device off of the shallow ledge and promptly falling asleep on it as you slowly tour the lake.

Tips and warnings: Although remotely located, Lakewood is still part of the Acadia National Park system and is often monitored by the (friendly but authoritative) park rangers. Also, you might get a leech on you.

2. Go see some local music.

Open mic nights are prime spots to observe hipsters in their natural habitat. The Lompoc Café in Bar Harbor, for example, is a great place to find the politically correct, free-spirited, and fashion-forward granola of Mount Desert Island’s youth culture, sensitively strumming on one or more ukuleles in unison. Often overrun with the rowdy restaurant-industry crowd, this event doesn’t get started until around 9:30 every Thursday night.

Lompoc has an outdoor patio with bocce ball, where you can pass the time and wait for the music to start. But you should expect to be watched closely by the territorial onlookers, waiting for you to lose so they can play.

Tips and warnings: Service at Lompoc is very lackadaisical. You should probably go ahead and order your second drink when you finally receive your first.

3. Buy lobster from a real lobsterman.

Get yourself down to the docks by late afternoon, wait for the lobster boats to come in, buy some lobster from anyone who looks the part, bring it to a campsite, and cook it your own damn self. Although lobster in Maine is a $365 million industry, Maine lobstermen are only receiving an average of $2.89 per pound for their catch, a hefty price cut since the mid-2000s.

If you order in a restaurant, your 1.5lb lobster has probably changed hands at least five times before landing on your $30 plate. Buying directly from the source ensures you’re supporting the struggling economy of Maine lobstermen, and not purchasing an even cheaper Canadian-caught, frozen-and-shipped version of the ‘Maine’ delicacy.

4. Play ring toss and get late-night takeout at the Dog and Pony Tavern.

Ring toss. There’s a metal ring attached to a string, attached to the ceiling. There’s a hook screwed into a wall. There are drunken lobstermen, standing around and criticizing. There’s you, miserably failing.

The Dog and Pony is one of the only bars open year-round on Mount Desert Island, making it a real locals’ spot. In the fall it’s known for some pretty heated fantasy football competitions, and in the summer it’s known for the late-night takeout window, which can also get heated.

The window is open from 1am until every drunk girl in spike heels is fed. You can expect a very satisfying Styrofoam container of fries, given to you by a very crabby woman.

5. Go to the Commonground Fair.

Maine is a big state with a small community. We’re not heavily populated, and we have yet to be drastically changed by all that hubbub technology of the modern world. Therefore, we’re still having town-hall meetings, contra dances, and farmers’ markets, and not just because they’re cool and ‘offbeat.’

If you want something more authentic than a corporate Irish pub, plan your vacation around the Common Ground Fair, put on by the Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association. The Fair has been a thing for 40 years. You’ll meet real-time farmers, masons, herbalists, activists, and carpenters. You’ll eat some really kickass French fries, and you’ll watch some incredibly intelligent border collies herd ducks. That’s Maine, in a weekend.

6. Fuck with other tourists.

If you have the time, and you have a dulcimer (or other melodious sounding instrument), camouflage yourself in the mid-afternoon and hike up high into the woods overlooking the carriage trails of Acadia National Park.

Like hunting, this sport requires patience and silence but swift action at the precise moment. If you’re good, you’ll know when to anticipate the whimsical passing of a tourist family on bicycles, chatting pleasantly (sometimes whining) as they maneuver the flat, gravel, tree-lined trail. Or perhaps you’ve snagged yourself a copy of the horse-drawn carriage schedule — that’s better. Either way, eerily strum your dulcimer as the tourists pass, pause, and nearly shit themselves when they realize there’s creepy music playing in the middle of the woods. Or, alternately, exclaim how thoughtful it is that Acadia National Park has provided them with theme music, in that exact spot, in the middle of nowhere.

Bonus exercise: While hiking, tell foreign tourists that the trail blueberries they’re eating are known to have hallucinogenic properties when picked in the wild.

The post What tourists always end up doing in Maine (and 6 better options) appeared first on Matador Network.

22 documentaries you should watch

No art form is as flexible or open to new voices as the documentary film. No running time is better or worse than another, no subject is too large or too small, and all the traditions of narrative film are thrown out the window in the search for depth, truth, and novelty.

The best of these movies can sway public opinion, touch the nerves of the world — just ask Michael Moore — or change your life forever. Whether you’re in search of a fresh perspective, an unabashed polemic, or pure, heartwarming entertainment, here’re 22 documentaries you should watch as soon as possible. Trust me.

1. The Act of Killing, 2012

Why: Joshua Oppenheimer’s tour-de-force film seems like an impossible one to make, but it’s even harder to take your eyes off of. Over almost four hours of running time, Oppenheimer and his subjects, the perpetrators of the 1965 Indonesian genocide, recreate the atrocious mistreatment and oppressive rule they continue to perpetrate on the country to the present day. You’ll be sick to your stomach (almost) as often as you laugh.

2. Harlan County, USA, 1976

Why: Arguably the best film ever made about labor conflict, Barbara Kopple’s documentary feature made international headlines for its unflinching portrait of a violent strike in Kentucky. Gripping and tragic, Harlan County, USA cemented its director as one of the finest nonfiction filmmakers in history.

3. Searching for Sugar Man, 2012

Why: The myth of Dylanesque American folk singer Sixto Rodriguez came to life in this Oscar-winning investigative documentary from 2012. Perhaps no documentary has ever had a more successful soundtrack — and Rodriguez, the film’s subject, has become an international icon from this darling film.

4. The Story of the Weeping Camel, 2003

Why: Have you ever wanted to see an albino camel cry at the sound of a musical instrument? How about watching a nomadic Mongolian family adjust to life in an ever-changing world? If you answered “yes” to either of these questions, then Byambasuren Davaa’s masterful semi-narrative docudrama is essential viewing. Warning: Bring tissues.

5. Crumb, 1994

Why: This glimpse into the life of infamous oddball and genius cartoonist R. Crumb is as rich a portrait as any film I’ve ever seen. At turns truly disturbing — Crumb and his family suffer from various forms of mental illness — and visually stunning, the movie presaged the re-entrée of comics and graphic novels into mainstream film.

6. Blackfish, 2013

Why: Gabriela Cowperthwaite’s agenda-driven ‘thriller-mentary’ about the mistreatment and subsequent misbehavior of a SeaWorld-owned killer whale has drawn the attention of the world’s major news outlets. This is for good reason: So effective, upsetting, and propulsive is the filmmaking that the theme park has seen its business model collapse as the movie’s reputation continues to grow.

7. The Civil War, 1990

Why: I recommend setting aside a Saturday to binge-watch all of Ken Burns’s seminal PBS documentary miniseries The Civil War, an overwhelming, unparalleled historical survey about the bloodiest period in the history of the United States. Even better: PBS offers the entire series for free.

8. The Last Waltz, 1978

Why: No concert documentary comes close to the sadness and grace of Martin Scorsese’s masterful, coked-out look at the final tour of The Band in 1976. Keep a lookout for Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, and other guests whose very presences here remind us of their enormous collective impact on American music and culture.

9. Night and Fog (Nuit et Brouillard), 1955

Why: The recently departed Alain Resnais (RIP, big guy), the genius behind seminal flicks Last Year at Marienbad and Hiroshima Mon Amour, was also a nonfiction filmmaker of uncanny skill. His short documentary film on the liberation of Nazi concentration camps after WWII was one of the first ever shot at the camps themselves with permission of the German government.

10. Urbanized, 2011

Why: Gary Hustwit’s trilogy on different forms of design — starting with the enjoyable Helvetica and the fantastic Objectified — concluded in 2011 with his most impressive documentary ever, a film on urban architecture, development strategies, and city building. It may sound like a snoozefest, but Hustwit’s intellectual engagement and childlike fascination with some of the world’s greatest architects and city planners is contagious.

11. Grizzly Man, 2005

Why: Few films on this list are as haunting as Grizzly Man, a nonfiction look at the life and death of environmentalist and bear enthusiast Timothy Treadwell. As directed by Werner Herzog, this documentary goes first to the heart and then deep, deep into the subconscious. And you’ll never forget the tape of Treadwell’s last moments on Earth.

12. Encounters at the End of the World, 2007

Why: I wasn’t the only person to notice what an enthralling documentary Grizzly Man was; Herzog’s movie was so popular that he was asked in 2006 to shoot a film on the McMurdo Station in Antarctica. For all of his oeuvre’s typical darkness, this documentary chooses instead to mosey calmly, even respectfully, through the lustrous glacial wilderness. One thing’s for sure: It’s the best penguin-related documentary available.

13. The Thin Blue Line, 1988

Why: So cohesive, expertly shot, and convincing are the arguments in Errol Morris’s breakout documentary that the filmmaker is considered to have freed a convicted murderer from jail the day before his execution. Adding to the prestige of this extraordinary investigative doc is the fact that, on the basis of its significant cultural (and financial) success, subject Randall Dale Adams went on to sue Errol Morris for a little extra dough.

14. Dogtown and Z-Boys, 2001

Why: Though the above link has some French subtitles, that shouldn’t stop you from joining nonfiction director Stacy Peralta on her journey inside the mythos and careers of the Zephyr “extreme skateboard” team.

15. Jiro Dreams of Sushi, 2011

Why: The only reason David Gelb’s portrait of sushi master Jiro Ono isn’t higher on this list is the extreme mouth-watering that comes from watching the film. As much a character study — and a charming one at that — as a dissection of the social mores and behaviors of contemporary Tokyo, this foodie-friendly flick rolls along at a brisk pace.

16. Before You Know It, 2013

Why: Three gay seniors in contemporary America — a cross-dressing widower, a flamboyant Texan bar owner, and a Harlem-based LGBTQ activist — relate their stories of wisdom and lessons learned in this fantastic indie. Shot with tenderness by director PJ Raval, the film, not yet theatrically released, begs to be pre-ordered as it finds its loyal audience.

17. Spellbound, 2002

Why: Everyone loves a good spelling bee, but it helps to be as funny as Jeffrey Blitz’s debut documentary. Eight key competitors face off — for onscreen time as well as the championship — while we start, quickly and unexpectedly, to root for each of them. Though not all win the bee, of course, most of them earn our love by the film’s end.

18. Point of Order, 1964

Why: At the height of his power, fearmongering Senator Joseph McCarthy had begun to pepper members of the American government with frightening amounts of slander, distrust, and public shame. What better way to unveil his legacy as one of abuse and evil than in the brilliant cinema verite editing of legendary doc-maker Emile de Antonio. And speaking of verite legends…

19. Don’t Look Back, 1967

Why: Bob Dylan and Joan Baez on tour. Oscar-winning director D.A. Pennebaker. A feud with Donovan. ‘Nuff said.

20. Reindeer, 2013

Why: Eva Weber’s remarkable short film is the shortest by far on this list, clocking in at hardly over three full minutes. But within those minutes are some of the most beautiful images of Scandinavia ever put on film in the form of the Karigasniemi village reindeer wranglers of Utsjoki, Finland.

21. Perfect Film, 1986 (reported)

Why: How to explain the serendipitous discovery of 22 minutes of lost-and-found newsreel footage from the assassination of Malcolm X? Why, do as Ken Jacobs did in a 1986 Canal Street pawn shop in New York City: Legally purchase the film negatives for a couple bucks, retitle the footage, and call it an experimental film!

22. Shepard & Dark, 2012

Why: Treva Wurmfeld’s first feature-length documentary paints a portrait of playwright and actor Sam Shepard in the least common way: through his close relationship with another, far-less-famous writer, Johnny Dark. Wurmfeld’s handheld style and close encounters with both men helps to get to the core of what makes Shepard such an icon — and his legend such a good story.

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5 facts about travel in Bolivia

Photos: author

1. Bolivian transport can be tricky.

The first thing most travelers will encounter in Bolivia is the transport system. Like in most of South America, people get around the country via an extensive bus network — but experiences on these can vary.

The process of catching a Bolivian bus deserves a post all to itself, so for now I’ll mention the bare basics: speeding drivers, bizarre departure and arrival times, a constant gamble as to the bus temperature — you get the idea. For short-term transport, though, I spent most of my time in two sorts: taxis and trufis.

Taking trufis and taxis in Bolivia

When I first arrived in La Paz, I was pretty nervous about catching the local buses. Known as trufis, these little minibuses throng the city’s streets and feature ticket sellers leaning out of the open doors shouting their destinations — information supported by a placard propped up in the windscreen.

The problem is that the drivers essentially make up their routes: If there’s a roadblock or too much traffic, they simply go another way. For tourists, who barely know the name of the street their hostel is on, this is something of a difficulty.

Luckily, by the time I conquered my fear and boarded a trufi, I’d walked around enough of the city to know which direction we were speed-driving in. And if I ever lost my bearings, I’d simply shout, “Esquina por favor!” and jump out at the nearest corner. A rule I never would have learnt without experiencing it first, however worried I was about getting lost.

Bolivia is also the only country where I’ve been consistently required to know both the directions to and eventual location of where I’m headed infinitely better than the taxi driver. Slews of drivers have looked terrified when I flagged them down — that is, if they stopped at all. Numerous taxis have driven straight past me, or started their engines and sped off as soon as they heard an address they weren’t explicitly familiar with.

I stayed at an incredible hostel in Cochabamba, which was marred solely by the fact that absolutely no taxis had any clue how to get there. My favourite journey back to Las Lilas was with a driver who held an expression like a frightened rabbit for the entire 10-minute ride. I had to continually coax him to take each turn and clambered out of the car exhausted.

Bolivian transport: The positives

There are a number of benefits to the way Bolivians travel. First off, Bolivian transport is cheap. Hence why I took taxis a lot of the time — something that’s never been a habit in other South American countries.

Secondly, the experience is usually pretty friendly. On every trufi ride, I realised each passenger said “buen día” or “buenas tardes” as they boarded, presumably to the rest of the bus, and I adopted the tactic very early on.

Third, and most appealing to me, is that being a taxi driver in Bolivia is often a full family operation. Many times I’ve caught taxis with the driver’s son or daughter, wife or girlfriend in the front seat — and once, in Sucre, even met a newborn baby, whose father clearly couldn’t bear to spend his days away from her. Despite the numerous strange drivers, there are also many who are really eager to chat away in Spanish about what you’re doing in Bolivia.

Sadly, though, these conversations were often tainted by a troublesome issue: paying the fare.

2. Dealing with money in Bolivia is stressful.

As in many countries around the world, people in Bolivia have a problem giving out change. I understand why — one tourist pays with a big note, and suddenly all your spare coins disappear as a result.

But when the biggest Boliviano note in common circulation is 100Bs, equivalent to £10 or $14, it becomes rather frustrating to constantly argue with taxi drivers, tienda owners, and restaurant waitresses, who consistently maintain that they don’t have change.

I often found myself pretending I didn’t have smaller denominations in these situations, just to be able to break a note. It’s not the nicest feeling but sometimes ends up being totally necessary.

The pricing of products also carries its own set of difficulties. More often than not, I had the sneaking suspicion that sellers were simply making their prices up on the spot. Regardless of whether it’s due to obviously being a foreigner, things got problematic when I tried to barter with the clearly invented price and was either bluntly shot down or laughed at.

Of course, the huge positive aspect to money in Bolivia is that pretty much everything is insanely cheap. Whether it’s a 10-hour bus journey for £10, a three-course meal with wine for £5, or an en suite room in a hotel for £7, sometimes it’s necessary to put things into perspective a bit.

3. Eating in Bolivia is always an experience.

Bolivians certainly know how they like their food. In a country that’s home to thousands of different varieties of potato, the locals supplement a starch-heavy diet with a nationwide obsession with sweet stuff: Plastic cups of coloured gelatine topped with whipped cream are sold on every street corner, sugary empanadas are grasped in sticky hands, and Coca Cola is the drink of choice.

The weirder Bolivian food customs you’ll see: people drinking juice out of plastic bags (actually a rather sensible idea), and most older Bolivians chewing on a ball of coca leaves to combat the effects of altitude (which results in a constant bulge in their cheek).

Bolivian food: The positives

Luckily, Bolivia’s food offerings have kept me happy more often than not, particularly the menu del dia. While daily helpings of soup, rice, meat, and plátano can sometimes get old, this simple meal is a quick, cheap fix for being hungry.

Outside of the typical Bolivian lunch, there’s a number of chances to happen upon amazing eateries if you just go looking. Potosí has incredible hot chocolate, we indulged in cheese fondue twice in Copacabana, and in Sucre I ate the best steak of my entire life at a churrasqueria not even mentioned in Lonely Planet or on TripAdvisor.

Most importantly, the attitude Bolivians have towards eating is ultimately communitarian, and it’s a lovely thing to see. When someone passes your table in a restaurant, you’ll usually hear “buen provecho,” the Spanish equivalent of “bon appétit.” There’s also nothing odd about sharing your table with strangers, a trait I think many other cultures would benefit hugely from.

4. Bolivian culture is absolutely fascinating.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Bolivia’s cultural traits are one of the main reasons it stands out so much.

Indigenously dressed men and women are a common sight in all towns, villages, and most big cities. Young boys shine shoes in the middle of the street, their faces covered by balaclavas to conceal their identities. Llama fetuses hang above market stalls, inviting people to bury them under the foundations of their houses for good luck.

These aspects of Bolivian life are things a foreigner simply can’t hope to understand. And Bolivians themselves have many behavioural eccentricities that often prove acutely stressful for a foreigner such as myself.

5. ‘Giving advice’ actually means making things up.

On Boxing Day in Copacabana, we wanted to hire a motorbike. It was a great way to spend an afternoon, zipping along the lake’s coastline to a few scenic spots, and we’d questioned the elderly gentleman renting out bikes a few days before. He’d given a good price for four hours of rental on an automatic bike — “Yes of course, we definitely have automatics” — and things seemed set.

Except when we arrived he wheeled out a tired, battered, and bruised bike and proceeded to explain that there were only four gears we needed to use.

“So it’s not automatic,” I ventured.

“Si, si, it is! There is no clutch, so it’s automatic,” he said, grinning. I tried again.

“No, if it has gears, it isn’t automatic. We asked for an automatic because we don’t know how to drive with gears!” His teenage accomplice attempted a different tactic.

“This road is straight. It’s flat. It’s an automatic road,” he said, unsuccessfully evading eye contact with me.

Time and time again, these things happened in Bolivia. A stranger would confidently point me in the wrong direction to an address I asked about, a shop owner would tell me they didn’t stock produce I could clearly see on the shelf.

But then again, some of Bolivia’s cultural craziness is what really makes the country special.

This post was originally published at Flora the Explorer and is reprinted here with permission.

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The importance of trust in travel

Ze Frank, the longtime internet personality first known for his wonderful dancing GIFs, and now probably best known for his informative and hilariously bizarre True Facts series, recently put together this meditation on trust, featuring Cirque de Soleil performers Alya Titarenko and Gael Ouisse. Frank mentions the importance of trusting in someone so you can relax and pay more attention to other parts of your surroundings, and it strikes me that this is one of the most fundamental features of serious travel.

International travelers have all probably had their trust betrayed at some point, because to a certain extent, every person you meet in a foreign country must be immediately trusted. That cab driver at the airport? You have to trust he knows how to drive, isn’t cheating you, or isn’t taking you to a remote spot to get robbed. You have to trust that your fellow hostelers aren’t going to rifle through your pockets when you aren’t looking, or that your hotel room lock is truly secure — that only you have the key, and that the cleaning crew has no interest in your passport or cash.

There are of course things you can do to give trust to fewer people — private hired cars, combination safes, unshared rooms — but those are a) generally all more expensive, and b) defeat much of the purpose of travel. Because as we move through the world, we’re spending a good deal of our time putting our lives in complete strangers’ hands. And there are plenty of times our trust will, both in small and big ways, be betrayed.

But if we want to keep traveling, after each betrayal we need to get out of our bed the next day and start trusting again.

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On the benefits of that job you hate

Photo: .bravelittlebird

Get a job you hate, and you’ll feel nothing but freedom when you leave. If you need to take time to save up, take that boring receptionist job in your hometown that you can use as a catalyst. Have too many roommates, cook cheap pasta dinners, and put as much of your paycheck as you can spare toward your plane ticket. Give your two-weeks notice, and feel nothing but liberation — you’re abandoning nothing but that job you hate.

Get a job you hate, because your adventure is more important than your paycheck. Walk dogs and clean kitchens in Barcelona, because mastering salsa and the Spanish subjunctive is worth the dirty dishwater. Pick kiwis in exchange for meals and a bed in the New Zealand countryside, because the sunset over the mountains will ease your aching back. Take any opportunity that prolongs the adventure, and don’t dare think about how it will look on your resume.

Get a job you hate, so you can learn to leave work at work. Feel the tedium, exhaustion, or apathy creep into your skin, but when it’s time to clock out, be gone. Shred through the fallacy that a career can be perfectly fulfilling, the notion we stake everything on when we chant the “Follow Your Dreams” mantra.

In the job you hate, understand what people mean when they say the loss of one sense makes the others grow stronger. When your outside passions, interests, and relationships carry you through miserable work, you won’t forget to nurture them once you land the job you love.

Get a job you hate, and pay attention to why you hate it. Avoid those qualities in your future. Learn that the lifestyle, skill sets, and temperament needed in your chosen path carry far more weight than your initial attraction to a particular industry. Our aspirations tend to focus too heavily on what we want to be — a firefighter, a doctor, a producer, a zookeeper — reducing complex individuals to their uniforms and media depictions. Focus instead on how you want to spend your days.

Let your job fuel your hate-fire and aim you toward what you love.

If your mind grows numb at your challenge-free desk job, seek active work with problems that need solving. If you can’t stand your stressful 80-hour workweek, find out what you can give up in order to scale back. Be honest with yourself about what you need to be happy. When you find your needs changing, adapt to them. Discover which aspects of your work life — schedule flexibility, financial stability, creative control — you are not willing to sacrifice, and work around them.

Get a job you hate, but know for a fact it is temporary. It’s far easier to cruise along in a job you don’t mind, but also far more toxic. If job satisfaction is a spectrum, it seems desirable to get as near the top end as possible, but in the middle lies true danger.

Horrible jobs are valuable in their transience — they allow you a peek into a world for a short period of time. When you find yourself in the quicksand of a job you feel apathetic about, look at your opportunities for advancement. If none of them excite you, cut your losses before you feel you’ve invested too much in a job you merely tolerate.

Get a job you hate, and keep your eyes on the prize. Start small. If the job you hate is in an industry you love, with a foreseeable path toward your dream job, keep going. Hustle hard, and work your way up. If it isn’t, if the job you hate is entirely unrelated to your field, look laterally. Hustle harder, and explore what you love on the side. If you want to write or produce or make music, start creating. If you need to go back to school, save up. Take night classes. Let your job fuel your hate-fire and aim you toward what you love.

Get a job you hate, but make sure you can see the end point. Brainstorm, hustle, analyze, explore, stay mindful, make contacts, do work on the side. Learn patience, gratitude, and self-worth, even if you must do so by experiencing their polar opposites. Get familiar with your passions, skills, and values, and be honest with yourself.

Then, and only then, go get that job you love.

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