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10 embarrassing American stereotypes

Photo: Keoni Cabral

1. We’re FAT.

If there’s anywhere to start, it’s right here. Our expanding waistlines have been the subject of global ridicule for decades, with our weapons of mass consumption fed with bottomless obesity fuel, and our luxurious domestic throne rooms of TV appreciation and ever-present automobile infrastructure at the ready to remove any and all semblance of physical activity from our daily routine.

A couple fun facts: 68% of Americans were overweight or obese in 2012, and since 1960, we’ve packed on an extra 24 pounds each, causing endless problems related to diabetes, heart disease, fuel consumption, and airplane seating size standardization. Somehow that $60 billion we spend every year on weight loss products is getting us nowhere.

2012 obesity rates, state by state. Not overweight…obese. Deep red is over 30%. Source.

When I was in Taiwan, one of many nations for whom portion control and lack of trans fats are simply non-issues, I was asked if I thought the humans in Wall-E were a realistic portent of our inevitable fate.

They thought it was silly to think humans would end up as severely fat, immobilized, and digitally entertained as the characters depicted in the film…whereupon I informed them that a certain percentage of our population has already achieved such a feat.

Asia in general has significantly lower rates of obesity. Just for a quick comparison, our 33.8% obesity rate is pretty darn easily beaten by Japan’s 3.5%. Get it together, America.

Minor consolation? Someone overtook us. But our current 2nd place fat trophy is no reason to cheer. And I expect our size and sedentary vegetating often contribute to another particular sort of laziness…

2. We barely travel.

We’ve all heard the embarrassingly low statistics concerning the percentage of Americans holding passports, but at this point, it’s over 30%. Still incredibly lame, and far behind the UK’s 80%, but a lot better than you may have heard.

But I think that misses the point. It doesn’t matter how many people have passports, but how many use them. And according to a (somewhat outdated) study that ranked countries according to number of trips abroad, the USA is in a respectable 3rd place. Woo hoo!

Passport ownership, state by state. Source.

But that’s by sheer numbers, not per capita. Germany was #1, with 86.6 million trips abroad…compared to a population of 80 million.

Compare that to the 58 million trips Americans took abroad, and our 300 million people, and Germans turn out to be quintuple the travelers we are.

We’ve got all sorts of excuses, of course. We live far away. Our economy sucks. And we barely speak our own language, much less others.

And all that would make sense, except when you take a look at Canada, where a respectable 60% hold passports, and according to tourist receipt data from 2009, they spent about 1/3 as much as (USA) Americans did on travel, but with only 1/10 the population, which makes them approximately triple the travel junkies we are. And both are in North America, so I don’t think problems like expensive plane tickets are good enough excuses.

A frequent argument put forth is that travel expenditures correlate closely with income and proximity to international borders, and that’s true enough, except when our Canadian buddies are upstaging us 3 to 1. I mean seriously, guys. Who the hell doesn’t want to see the world?!?!!

And you might think travel is a frivolous expenditure that doesn’t count as a necessity of life. Except that it exacerbates the next problem…

3. We’re ignorant of the world.

I won’t trot out the parade of ignorant Americans saying silly things about whether Europe is a country or Africa is a planet or whatever. I’m sure you’ve seen ‘em. And this is to say nothing of the Americans who don’t know the Earth goes around the sun.

What bothers me far more than mere stupidity is the cultural prejudice that festers from this ignorance, and keeps millions of Americans irreparably distrustful of the outside world. We’re constantly in fear of a rising China or resurgent Soviet empire or socialist European dictatorship or reincarnated Caliphate, or whatever the hate target is for that particular decade. You can tell which racial group is the big bad wolf at the time because they’re the bad guys in all the movies. Hollywood is literally chronicling our xenophobia before our very eyes.

Quick, fill in every country you can!

I wish I could find the source, but several years ago, a few Muslims went on a cultural exchange tour, intended to increase communication and understanding between Christians and Muslims, at a time when the media continues to push some of us into thinking we’re destined for some inevitable clash of civilizations. And Christian attendants actually asked, “Do Muslims love their children?”

The price for such ignorance? Unchecked ease of political manipulation. While knowledge remains a magnificent way to spot a liar, it remains childishly easy to manipulate an ignorant voting bloc, which is a big reason why Americans need to travel more. We’d know the whole rest of the modern world does healthcare better, or that Amsterdam isn’t a cesspool of drug-addled violence, or that public transportation systems don’t have to suck. But too few venture beyond our borders, which is why the last two elections saw candidates for some of the highest offices in the land claiming on TV that Russia is still our arch-nemesis, and almost half the country voted for them.

Ignorance happens everywhere, sure. But in a country so well-connected with the outside world, and with a communications infrastructure that allows us to consume seemingly any cultural creation the world can produce, ignorance is not an accident. It’s a choice. And many of us make it every day.

4. We’re scientifically illiterate.

The country that flew to the moon still has 20 million people that believe it was faked. A few fun facts about American scientific flailing:

34% of Americans believe in ghosts.
18% still believe the Sun goes around the Earth.
32% think stem cell research is morally wrong, but only 20% actually know what stem cells are.

Sigh. And it can only become increasingly problematic to maintain this level of ignorance. At no point in our future will scientific literacy become less important. The more we invent and discover, the more we’ll need to know what the hell is going on. If we haven’t even caught up with the discoveries of Copernicus, how can we be expected to handle all those flying cars we’ve always wanted?

But we might not be able to afford them anyway…

5. We’re rich…ish.

Some of us, anyway. Income inequality has become a hot-button political issue lately, and for good reason. The chasm between rich and poor has grown to match the level of the Gilded Age of the 1920s, right before the most horrific economic collapse in our history. The super-rich of the 0.01% control a greater share of wealth than at any time in recorded history, while their taxes are among the lowest they’ve been in our lifetime, which all adds up to make American income inequality the most severe of any developed country.

Now you might think that’s fine, since they must have worked hard for all that wealth, right? Well, not those six Walmart heirs, who control as much wealth as the bottom 40% of Americans, and certainly not in the case of all those politically derived tax breaks and offshore bank accounts that allow rich people to build massive amounts of wealth while selling out their own country at the same time. But even aside from all that (which I think is pretty awful to begin with), there’s a direct correlation between income inequality and everything bad in the world.

For many years, we grew together. But for several decades, we’ve grown apart. And it’s breaking the country in half. Source.

It would be one thing if they were working hard and reaping deserved rewards, but when plenty of other people are working hard but not even managing to break out of poverty-level wages, something’s gotta give.

And I think it should be rich-people tax evasion scams, not child-poverty nutrition programs.

And, for those who think billionaires paying an extra tax percentage or two will cause our democracy to collapse into a socialist dictatorship, it’s probably worth knowing that when our country was fighting World War II, tax rates on the top earners reached 94%. Is it really so much to ask our new nobility to contribute to their country in a time of need?

Yet such modest suggestions are met with fervent, ideological, almost religious opposition. Speaking of which…

6. Religious fanaticism runs deep.

Now allow me to begin by pointing out that I have no problem with people practicing their religion. I strongly support absolute freedom thereof. Unfortunately, a third of Americans do not. We’ve reached the point that 34% of Americans would favor the establishment of Christianity as the state religion.

It’s funny how vocal the debate can get over whether or not the United States was founded as a Christian nation, since the Treaty of Tripoli literally declares the exact opposite and bears the signature of President John Adams. Seems like it would be over and done with, right?

Nope. The debate rages on. And although religious participation is generally down, with increasing numbers of Americans (particular younger ones) declaring no religious affiliation at all, the number of Americans claiming that “Christianity is a very important part of being American” increased from 38% to 49% from 1996 to 2004.

So while it’s not entirely accurate to call the United States “religious,” it’s perfectly accurate to claim this for half the country, whose opinions have become so deeply entrenched that a third of Americans apparently want to see the country transformed into a Christian theocracy. We’re getting split right down the middle, and religion is the wedge. One of them, anyway.

Good thing all that religious fervor must be keeping everybody morally righteous though, right? RIGHT!?!?

7. We have more prisoners than anyone else.

I find it rather odd that Americans talk about Americans like we’re the greatest people on the planet, while simultaneously locking up the highest percentage of our citizens of any country on the planet. How great can we be if we have more criminals than anywhere else?

Know what happened at the time of the spike? Privatization. Chart by Pwrm.

Yet for many Americans, this isn’t even a problem. They view record-setting incarceration rates, mandatory minimum sentencing, zero-tolerance drug offense policies, and the $75 billion annual tab as the solution, failing to see how these astronomical imprisonment rates only serve to exacerbate the existing problem.

We turn non-violent offenders into inmates, whose criminal record then guarantees employment challenges. And what’s a former criminal to do when the clean life won’t pay the bills? Turn to crime, of course. And so the term “correctional facility” is just a lie: Within three years of release, about 43% of inmates end up back in prison.

You might think those repeat offenders deserve it, but in Norway, it’s just 20%. So it’s not just the offenders that get themselves back into the system. It’s equally a result of the system itself.

And thus we could save billions, while drastically cutting crime rates at the same time, but instead we’re just spinning along on our imprisonment hamster wheel, all the while suffering, and paying for, the enormous consequences. Such as…

8. Our gun crime is out of control.

There’s no modern country on the planet that has the same problems with gun violence as the United States. In 2006, over 10,000 Americans died gun-related deaths. In Japan? Two.

Number of guns per 100 people. We’re in red.Source.

Sadly, it’s not just murder. Gun-related suicides actually happen more often than gun-related homicides. In 2010, the ratio was 1.75 to 1.

I’m all for allowing gun ownership for the sake of self defense, but when most of those deaths are self-inflicted, it’s really not a matter of defense, is it?

The cycle is depressingly self-defeating; every school shooting leaves the public terrified, and clamoring for reasonable gun control legislation. Fearing tyrannical regulation, gun lovers flood the gun shops and stock up on new firearms. And since the gun lobby blocks even the most reasonable of new regulations, no progress is made…except for the massive addition of newly circulating firearms, thus enabling yet more school shootings.

And Americans think other countries are dangerous.

9. Our military budget is killing us.

Speaking of massive stockpiles of deadly weaponry, the United States consistently outspends everyone else on the planet on our military, exceeding, as of 2013, the next 11 countries combined. It would be one thing if we were at war with all of them simultaneously, but plenty of them are allies. Awesome.

More fun facts? The United States accounts for about 40% of global military expenditures, spending about 6-7 times as much as China, the next biggest spender. And although the Department of Defense has accounted for about 20% of the federal budget for the last several years, other estimates, which include defense-related spending beyond simply the Department of Defense, put the number at a staggering 58%.

This is the budget of a country at war, not a country fighting a few insurgent forces in 3rd world countries.

Even so, no discussion of reining in government spending ever includes a reduction of military might. One might think it would be simple to suggest we outspend the next eight countries combined, instead of the next eleven, for example.

But it’s just so easy to say “weakening America,” “grave threat of terrorism,” and “support our troops,” that no politician seems capable of mustering the intellectual prowess to ask, “Could more lives be saved if we spend those billions elsewhere?”

And while I have nothing but respect for the soldiers who put their lives on the line for the sake of their country, I have nothing but disdain for the politicians who put soldiers’ lives on the line for the sake of their political career. And judging from the vast number of third-world countries we’ve invaded or bombed that pose absolutely no threat to us whatsoever, we seem to have quite a few of them.

The trouble is perhaps best phrased by Abraham Maslow, who once said: “I suppose it is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail.”

So we keep on banging away.

10. We don’t know what “patriotism” is.

This is a big one for me, as it tends to eclipse any other problem, by facilitating the existence of them all.

I’ve written before about the mentality of certain Americans who think it’s “very special” to be American, but whose only explanations consist of factors present in hundreds of countries. Democracy, for example, or freedom of speech. Or people who refuse to travel to other countries for fear of their safety, including those with significantly lower crime rates, or who believe American citizenship somehow entitles them to the favorable economic circumstances our country currently enjoys.

Well said, George.

And though it would be one thing for sheltered Americans to continue ignorantly wallowing in the mediocrity that is the current chapter in the history of the United States, it’s another thing entirely when that ego merges with assumed privilege.

A disturbingly popular view has emerged in recent years, which declares that the United States has a unique privilege in the world, which allows it to pursue whichever goal it desires, without regard to its effect on citizens of other countries. All because America is the “greatest country in the world.”

I once witnessed an American pack up his things and refuse to speak further with a Swiss man who (politely) suggested the United States should take into consideration how its actions affect the populations of other countries. And when the Swiss man left the room, the American said, “I don’t like that guy.” For the crime of suggesting considerate behavior.

And this is no fringe view. When a recent political candidate recommended following a foreign policy based on the Golden Rule, the audience shouted him down. This country literally witnessed the voters and leadership of a major political party revolting against the basic concept of morality.

If you ask me, greatness doesn’t provide leeway for inconsiderate behavior. In fact, it does the exact opposite. No one has ever seriously declared, “He’s a great person, so he can bomb other people.” And yet somehow it’s perfectly acceptable — to certain people, anyway — to provide this privilege to an entire country.

That isn’t patriotism. It’s narcissism, plain and simple. And it’s blinding us from recognizing or solving the massive challenges we currently face. [image error]

This post was originally published at Snarky Nomad and is reprinted here with permission.

The post The 10 most embarrassing American stereotypes (that are kinda true) appeared first on Matador Network.

The Pale Blue Dot

Carl Sagan’s famous “Pale Blue Dot” speech, from his book of the same name, are possibly among the most profound words ever strung together at once. This animation of it, by Adam Winnik, is literally my favorite thing on the internet. Sagan was an astronomer best known for his TV show Cosmos (which is about to be resurrected by Seth McFarlane and Neil deGrasse Tyson). He sadly died back in 1996, before I had even heard of him.

I saw this video a couple years back when it was first made, during a particularly rough mid-twenties-existential-crisis, and it managed to pull me out of it. The speech — about the insignificance of mankind in the grand scheme of things, and the silliness of how badly we treat people considering — should be watched and taken to heart by everyone. Hopefully it makes as much of a difference for you as it did for me. [image error]

The post The Pale Blue Dot: This 4-minute animation could literally change your life appeared first on Matador Network.

What it took to get this photograph

Photo: author

This is a photograph I snapped near the top of a Himalayan pass traversing the Parvati-Pin valleys in northern India, on my first travels to the country in 2009. The altitude of this crossing was a pretty humble 15,000 feet.

I worked as a porter for a French trekking guide based in the village of Vashisht, Manali, Himachal Pradesh, and was paid 200 rupees ($4) per day to carry about 45 kilos (90-some pounds) of equipment, including kerosene stoves and camping gear, to serve a group of four Canadian tourists. We trekked 10 days, crossing from a temperate mountain region into a very dry and desolate area where many Tibetan refugees have made their homes. It was much like crossing the Cascades on foot, only to be met by even more enormous mountains on the other side.

I cooked for four people at the end each day. Really nice meals. I only ate rice and lentils with my Nepalese friends who had been hired as porters for this trek and invited me as a 10th member of the laboring team to haul supplies. That was their difficult livelihood — working for a couple dollars a day to carry the supplies that provided for the recreation of guests who paid over $500 to temporarily enjoy themselves and the scenery. The profits mostly went to the trek guide, a French woman who didn’t do anything but walk straight ahead and bark out orders at the beginning and end of each day. Her passion for pushing everyone enabled all of us to be the first to cross the pass that year.

The experience, only 10 days, was the most difficult I have ever embarked on in my life. It was driven by a kind of empathetic need to identify with the Nepalese laborers I sat with every day in the village. I wanted to understand their perspective of life as migrants living away from their homes and families. The Indian rupee is strong to the Nepali rupee, like the dollar is strong compared to the peso, inviting foreigners to come across the border to work and send the earnings back home to their villages.

I would be paid and treated just as if I were a Nepali man. Same pay, same food, same tent.

I originally wanted to just sport a pair of the straps I saw them use to haul loads up and down the village, but was told it was no job for me. I kept insisting — sitting with them each morning drinking chai and smoking bidis — and studied as much Hindi as I could cram in order to communicate deeper and deeper thoughts to them. Eventually, I moved in with a couple Nepali fellows. They were sharing a small living area in Dhungri village. I call it a living area because there was no kitchen, no bathroom, no electricity. It was just a stone-walled room where blankets were spread along the floor and men slept against one another like matchsticks. The kerosene stove would be lit and the whole room would fill with smoke before getting hot enough to put the bowl of rice down onto.

I guess in first-world terms, I was smack dab in the middle of “developing-nation” poverty. Whatever that means. I didn’t actively notice that about them, though, and they didn’t seem to notice that I was any different from them. Their humble nature drew me to them. Their happiness despite their conditions of living. Their invisibility as hard-working people amidst a foreign, predominant culture in an overrun tourist haven. They decided to take care of me. I became their student. It reminds me of the quote from Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath:

If you’re in trouble or hurt or need — go to poor people. They’re the only ones that’ll help — the only ones.

A few days after I began living with these men, one of their cousins, living in the village a few kilometers down the road, came over and heard about my quest. He was a Nepali man that could speak a little bit of English. We spoke in two languages to communicate any single idea. It was an awesome, patient process. He told me that a trekking party would be going out in a few days and invited me to work with them as a “coolie” — a porter. He told me what the journey would entail — 10 days of arduous trekking over an unfathomably rugged but scenic landscape — and that I would be paid and treated just as if I were a Nepali man. Same pay, same food, same tent.

I got my stuff together and prepared to embark into the tallest mountains in the world.

Upon leaving, I was quickly humbled. Carrying this much weight as a person who was only 19 years old at this point over such a long distance quickly felt impossible. Every step forward up the steep terrain was a very conscious process. I was totally unprepared for how daunting these mountains were. I was tall and lanky — the Nepali were short and stout. Built for the mountains.

I came to notice quickly how certain privileges operated in society. After all, the end of the day brought rest to the well-funded tourists who were seeking a challenge for the fun of it. For me, my responsibility after a long day of hauling gear entailed setting the tourists’ tents up for them, cooking their delicious meals, and then cleaning up before going to bed. There was never a moment to rest for me, or for the Nepalese men who labored unflinchingly in their service the entire trip. At night, each of the guests would sleep comfortably in their own tent that we carried for them. I would go to the one tent that housed all 10 of us laborers to eat a plain dish of rice and spiced lentils before sleeping.

I still had a definite privilege, of course. I had signed up and volunteered for suffering. I did not have to make $4 a day to survive.

Still, I really started to identify with the Nepali workers, especially when the guide started to treat me like I was something lower than a paying customer…something like “them.” I felt sorry for how much they had to sacrifice and endure while others were able to live with so much pleasure and comfort, only because they had more paper in their pockets. I questioned them about their living conditions, their families, their children, their way of life. I quickly started to resent the guests. The whole day they were well ahead of us on their own private tour, while the rest of us lagged behind carrying the gravity of their luggage. It was a humiliating experience. An experience that these men had to go through year after year after year, without ever getting to know those whom they served.

I thought I was going to die. Probably the first time I had intimately felt that impending doom dawn upon me.

The worst moments were toward the end of the trip, crossing a glacier. The guide had packed snowshoes and safety equipment for the paying customers only. The Nepalese men, being poor, and I, being foolish, had come all this way to the top of the Himalayan range either wearing chappals — sandals — or rubber mukluks. At this point, one slip on the glacier would send one careening off the face of the mountain, in some places thousands of feet down to the valley floor. I thought I was going to die. Probably the first time I had intimately felt that impending doom dawn upon me. No way to say goodbye to family or anybody up there.

The photo at the top of this article is actually just after I made it to a safe place where I no longer felt endangered. A kind of, “Thank you. I am going to remember everything this trip has taught me forever” moment. I remember at this moment — a boy no older than I — started to cry because of the pressure that had been put on us all to make this happen, the first ones crossing the pass that season. It was dangerous, and without the proper equipment the top was especially precarious. Often, step after step, we would break through the snow and ice, with a 100 pounds on our backs, and be stuck up to our necks unable to get out without assistance. It was frustrating and exhausting. We were all running, literally, on will.

I shook with weakness. It took every last breath out of me and every last tear out of another. A strong kid, no less. Of course, none of this was witnessed by those who were comparably amongst the wealthiest young travelers on this planet. A microcosm of the world we live in. Suffering, exploitation, and violence gets outsourced, silenced, and hidden so civilized society can continue to live unabated in fantasy-land. “What a marvelous trip!” they would exclaim.

No less, the view from the top of the world, seeing into central Asia and Tibet, was one of the most majestic sights and beautiful feelings I have ever had. We had done it together and only with each others’ encouragement and help. We smoked a few bidis before descending into Spiti Valley. But before I left I stood there hugging those men under the prayer flags. [image error]

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New Pussy Riot protest video

JUST LAST December, two members of Pussy Riot — a Russian feminist punk rock group — were released after being held in prison for almost two years. They were convicted of “hooliganism motivated by religious hatred” after the group did a performance in a Russian Orthodox Church (the sentence was considered a human rights violation by many international organizations). They claim they were protesting the church leader’s support for Russian president Vladimir Putin.

Yesterday the band was beaten by cossacks — who were historically responsible for patrolling borderlands, and are today used as security at the Sochi Olympics — while they performed their protest song “Putin will teach you how to love the motherland.” They were then temporarily detained before being released.

Today they’ve released their music video which contains footage of the brutality. Translated lyrics for the song are below.

$50 billion and a rainbow ray

Rodnina and Kabayeva will pass you the torch

They’ll teach you to submit and cry in the camps

Fireworks for the bosses. Hail, Duce!

​

Sochi is blocked, Olympus is under surveillance

Special forces, weapons, crowds of cops

FSB – argument, Interior Ministry – Argument

On [state-owned] Channel 1 – applause.

Putin will teach you to love the Motherland.

In Russia, the spring can come suddenly

Greetings to the Messiah in the form of a volley from

Aurora, the prosecutor is determined to be rude

He needs resistance, not pretty eyes

A bird cage for protest, vodka, nesting doll

Jail for the Bolotnaya [activists], drinks, caviar

The Constitution is in a noose, [environmental activist] Vitishko is in jail

Stability, food packets, fence, watch tower

Putin will teach you to love the Motherland

They will turn off Dozhd’s broadcast

The gay parade has been sent to the outhouse

A two-point bathroom is the priority

The verdict for Russia is jail for six years

Putin will teach you to love the Motherland


Motherland

Motherland

Motherland

To read more on the story, click here.

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5 unspoiled European beach towns

Skagen, Denmark. Photo: ViktorDobai

I love the South of France just as much as the next person. Yet, sometimes the Promenade des Anglais feels more like a crowded Miami boardwalk than the beach-y slice of picturesque romance it’s supposed to be.

The usual beach destinations — Mykonos, Sardinia, Cannes, Ibiza, etc. — are fine, but if you’re looking to escape the scenesters, perhaps sip a glass of wine that costs the equivalent of 50 cents, and soak yourself with warm water and rays in entirely unique destinations, you might check out one of Europe’s least-touched beaches. From the Albanian Coast to little-known French islands, have a look at the beaches that will give you both bragging rights and some well deserved relaxation from all the usual beach-going fuss.

1. Himarë, Albania

It’s only about 50 miles east of Italy, but the beaches of Albania that sit on the Adriatic Sea could not be more different from the Italian Riviera. Beachfront hotels for $50, easy access to postcard-worthy ancient ruins like Butrint and Himarë Castle, gorgeous beaches (try Gjipe or Jali), and laid-back locals make the Albanian Coast good to go. Plus, it’s weird. Thanks to its Communist years, in some areas Cold War-era bunkers dot the coast, barely held up by the white sand.

The easiest way to get to Himarë is to fly into Athens, then take a short bus to Vlorë or to Himarë, where you can dive right into the blue Ionian Sea — not a soul in sight.

2. Vama Veche, Romania

Not the type of beach where you tan all day and head out clubbing all night, Vama Veche is more the communal “let’s camp and sing around the campfire” type of place. It’s a small village near the Black Sea, with a beach that’s like a subdued Burning Man, playing host to all sorts of fascinating people who bring along guitars, sleep in tents, and awake to the gentle sound of breaking waves in the morning.

It’s free to camp, but do be a little careful — there’s a nudist section of the beach, which, while discreet and well nestled away, might not be a pretty sight to wake up to.

3. Skagen, Denmark

Denmark is known for its philosophers, writers, physicists, filmmakers, even as Hamlet’s kingdom — few think of untouched beaches. But head to Skagen — once a hotspot for painters thanks to its clear, bright light — and you’ll find not only art museums but also massive white sand dunes.

Sometimes known as ‘The Scaw,’ this northernmost peninsula is in a constant state of flux, as the sand dunes are perpetually created and destroyed by the strong night tide. Somehow, though, little has changed in this Scandinavian city since it was founded in 1413. Seeing as the population is only about 8,000 people, take a flight into Denmark’s second-largest city, Aarhus, and enjoy the short bus ride to Skagen.

4. Piran, Slovenia

I first stumbled on Piran, a tiny town on the tip of Slovenia surrounded by the Adriatic Sea, from a few gorgeously colorful pictures of the city center I’d found on Instagram. Get here and you’ll be spending your whole day in the water (either in Piran, or take a short bus to the more spacious beaches in Isola) and eating at one of the restaurants on Tartini Square, where you can get a wonderful glass of Slovenian white wine and freshly caught seafood for practically nothing.

To really escape the crowds, navigate the cobblestone streets to the top of the city and its 7th-century castle. At the top of the stairs, there’s a panoramic view of the peninsula, the Adriatic, and the sparkling lights of Croatia in the distance.

5. Noirmoutier, France

It would be wrong to regard all French beaches as touristy and expensive. Linked to the mainland by a pair of bridges, the island of Noirmoutier is full of rugged, grassy terrain complete with Quixote-esque windmills and quiet boardwalks.

Yet what makes the island truly one of the best secret beach destinations is its French-infused Mediterranean vibe and a full 25 miles of sandy beaches. Make your way through the Boise de la Chaize — a small forest of oak trees and eucalypti — which opens up to the Plage des Dames. Here you’ll find soft sand, turquoise water, cozy beach huts, and, perhaps most importantly, not a hotel in sight. [image error]

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Vibrators and abayas in Dubai

Photo: Éole's photostream (2,262)

“Miss. Please bring your bag over here,” says the customs agent.

Those are not the words you want to hear. Ever. Even if you know there’s nothing of a suspicious nature in your bag. There’s still that brief moment when you start to wonder…Is there something? Could a kilo of heroin have hopped into my suitcase?

“Miss, please. Your bag,” she says again. I take my suitcase off the x-ray scanner and roll it over to the special inspection counter. Is it the bottle of vodka I just purchased from duty free? This is a dry Muslim country. Although, since I did buy it in the airport, it does kind of feel like entrapment. The shifty sales clerk encouraged me to take more.

“Oh, miss. Just one bottle?” he’d taunted.

It’s not like booze is hard to come by in Dubai. Even during Ramadan they serve alcohol, albeit secretly, at night, with a guard keeping vigilant watch on the door. Dubai is the most liberal of the Emirates. I have this theory that Sheikh Mohammed once visited Vegas and thought, Yeah. I can build this in the desert too. I sincerely doubt one measly bottle of passion fruit vodka will be a problem.

It’s not. Rummaging through my bag, she cruises right past the vodka. That’s a relief. I wait patiently, and then I wait some more. She’s taking an unusually long time for such a small suitcase. It appears as if she’s actively searching for something in particular. Is it the heroin? Oh, great, back to that.

“Is there something you’re looking for?” I ask tentatively. She pauses. Then whispers, “Toys.”

Toys? I don’t have any toys, and so what if I do. Is this a country with no children? Seeing my confusion, she tries again. This time she looks directly at me, willing me to understand.

“Toys.” Her eyes grow big, conveying more than her words can. Her left eyebrow arches. Then it hits me — oh, those kind of toys. I remember packing yesterday, opening my sock drawer, and catching sight of the item in question. I chucked it in as an afterthought.

“Pornography is illegal in the UAE,” she says, casting her judgment on me as a woman of ill repute.

She seems relieved we’re finally on the same page. That makes one of us. I’m feeling far from relief, more like mortified terror. At least I was fortunate enough to get the lady agent. Then I realize it was planned that way. They’d both watched my bag go through the x-ray, and when they spotted my vibrating companion, I became her domain.

I fish out the culprit and surreptitiously hand it over. She slips it in a brown paper sack. I try to make light of the situation to mask my embarrassment.

“So, you must see this a lot, huh?”

“Not really,” she responds.

That’s not comforting. Am I to believe I’m the only person to ever bring a vibrator into the Middle East? This is going to be one of those situations I later confide about to my friends while they stare at me dumbfounded. “Of course you can’t bring a vibrator there,” they’ll say knowingly, like I’m some kind of naïve pervert. It’s not like this information was listed in my guidebook.

“Come with me, Miss,” orders the agent. Uh-oh.

“Is this is a problem?” A tiny note of fear cracks in my voice. I compose myself and try to play it cool. “I mean, is it really that big a deal?”

“Pornography is illegal in the UAE,” she says, casting her judgment on me as a woman of ill repute.

Whoa. Suddenly, I’m a pornographer — a lascivious porn peddler infiltrating a country of high moral standards with my whore-wares. This information really ought to be included in a guidebook.

We begin the long trek from the special inspection counter to the special room for sex fiends. It takes forever. Not because it’s all that far, maybe 100 feet, but because we’re clocking Emirati speed. Shway shway is the term used. It means, s-l-o-w-l-y. Just speaking the words conjures an accurate image. Emirati women glide through a room as if time were irrelevant, just a silly invention so people could wear designer watches. Their long black abayas float around them as they sashay from side to side: shway shway. I can’t help but feel bad for Adul, the driver sent to fetch me. He’ll be waiting a while.

I sit on a cold metal chair as I await my verdict. My customs agent is across the counter whispering with two other abaya-clad ladies. If you were imagining a country of modest, humble women, subjugated to long black identity-concealing frocks, you’d be wrong. Women are women wherever you are, and while practices vary from culture to culture, this constant remains true: Girls like to feel pretty.

The three women across from me wear abayas embroidered with silk thread and embellished with sparkling jewels. Their delicate silk chiffon headscarves drape elegantly around their faces. Intricate swirling, curving henna patterns dance across their hands. Then there are their eyes. Arab women know how to give a smoldering glance, all the while feigning an aura of innocence. So much is said in the subtext of those thick, smoky, kohl-lined eyes accentuated with jewel-toned shadow.

I’ve always found it easier to hang out with guys, yet it’s the acceptance of girl groups I really crave. I like wearing an abaya. Not only are they surprisingly light and airy, but when you have one on you instantly feel part of a sisterhood. You’re granted admission into the shway shway club. Plus, it’s the perfect thing to wear after a huge Arab feast, a magic bulging belly-be-gone sort of garment.

Am I imagining things, or did she just wink?

My attention is brought back to the immediate situation when one of the ladies enters something into a computer. You never want to be in the computer system. I was once deported from Korea, and every time thereafter, when I applied for a visa, my name would appear with a fat nasty black mark. Now in the UAE, I will be known as a porn trafficker. A scarlet ‘P’ forever seared on my record. I can’t imagine this is going to go over well with the school that hired me.

“Miss, come here,” says the one at the computer. They intimidate me, like mean girls in high school. I walk my wanton self to the counter with my head down.

“You must sign this,” she passes me an official document. It’s a form releasing my property to be destroyed. A pang of sadness shoots through me. We’d had some good times together. It seems so extreme.

“Can’t you just keep it in a holding cell?” I try.

“No,” she answers.

I nod, accepting my fate, but I still don’t want to sign the form. “So, I suppose I have a record now?” They don’t seem to understand what I’m so concerned about.

“No. Just sign the paper and you go.”

“But is there something in the computer that says I bring stuff into the country?” I lower my voice, “You know…’toys.’”

The three girls look at each other. Their composure still cool and aloof, but are those tiny smiles creeping on their faces? Then I see it. They are smiling, not outright, but their eyes are smiling. Maybe they hadn’t been judging me. Maybe it is a sisterhood thing. Even in a Muslim country where a woman’s sexuality is kept hidden away, there’s still an unspoken understanding.

“Miss, it is no problem. No record,” my original customs agent assures me.

I let out a huge sigh of relief, and sign the document. I watch longingly as one of the ladies picks up the brown paper sack to deliver it to its final resting place. I imagine a burning inferno in the back. Goodbye, friend.

She pats the bag. “We’ll take care of this.”

Am I imagining things, or did she just wink? I look at her, my eyes full of questions, hers full of secrets, as she turns and leaves the room. Well, whatever becomes of my previous travel companion, the secret is safe with me. That’s what being part of a sisterhood is all about.

We say our goodbyes and I’m free to go. I take my time in full slow-blown shway shway mode as I exit the airport under a sign that reads: Welcome to Dubai. [image error]

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6 reasons not to work at a hagwon

Photo: Seoulful Adventures

Korean private academies, also known as hagwons, are widely known to have a dark side. I landed my job at a hagwon six months after graduating from university, and I’ve had moments of pure frustration, cried pitifully after horrid classes, and still struggle with my working schedule at times. After ten months, somehow I’m still going strong.

Here are some annoyances of a hagwon, and why I won’t be returning.

1. The teaching hours suck.

It’s not necessarily the amonunt of hours you’re at school that can get to you, it’s the amount of hours you’re expected to teach. Forty hours at work is normal, like any full-time job — but 30+ teaching hours? Some might call that insane, but that’s exactly what I deal with at my school.

Twenty-five hours of teaching a week was something I was expecting when I first arrived at my hagwon. That gives me enough time to plan and prepare for each of my lessons. But with the hagwon hours I have, preparation and planning have become something of a myth. Instead, I’ve come to excel at planning and teaching off the top of my head.

2. You get minimal holidays.


I always thought the one great benefit of being a teacher, other than being an educator to the leaders of the next generation, is the amount of holiday time you get — not in a Korean hagwon. Most of us get just one week off in the summer, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get another week off for Christmas, which is rare because it’s not a hugely celebrated holiday in Korea. With the long hours that we work, you’d think we’d be rewarded with better holiday schedules, but I’m afraid not.

3. They put intense pressure on the kids.

The Korean education system is notorious for putting their students through long days at school. According to the 2012 PISA results, this has made for a country with the unhappiest of students. Korean students are worked to the bone. They attend their normal comprehensive school during the day, and then attend various other private classes after school.

A few years ago, the government in Seoul put a curfew of 10pm on hagwons to discourage late-night cramming sessions. Parents protested, claiming that the policy favored the rich, who can afford private tutors to help their children study outside of hagwons.

An elementary school student of mine once told me, “Teacher, I go to school in the morning to study, then I go to academy after to study. After, I go home to eat, then my mother tells me to study again — I just want to rest and play with my friends!”

I couldn’t agree more, yet there’s nothing I could possibly do to help the situation, other than make my lessons the most fun and engaging they have all day. I don’t wish to add to the workload, or to the stress my students already experience at their comprehensive school and other hagwons they attend. It’s just a never-ending circle they can’t seem to leave, and it tears me up inside to watch it.

4. If they go bust, so do you
.

Most of the time, I forget that hagwons are private institutes who get no help from the government. A lot of these schools have top-notch interiors and learning resources for their students. My school is actually nicer than any school I’ve ever attended back home in London. Fees to attend academies can be quite high, and so schools can afford to splurge on their kids, and parents expect it.

That being said, you can still feel it’s a business from the daily running of the place, and because of that, I quickly realised that if the business collapsed (like so many do), then my job would too. I’ve heard countless stories from teachers who’ve had their hagwons close and had to end their contracts early. Suddenly, you’re in a foreign land with no job, no income, no place to stay…and that bonus you were looking forward to at the end of your contract? Not happening.

5. There’s no room for progression.


As with any job or career path, you expect to have some sort of opportunities for progression — not in a hagwon. This is one of the main reasons I won’t be renewing my contract at the end of the year. Although it can be a great job and I’m learning a ton, I’d rather do all that in a job where I can progress further up the ladder.

A chance for progression gives you motivation and something to work towards. I couldn’t stay in the same job year after year knowing I won’t be able to advance. To own and run a hagwon here, you’d most likely have to be Korean or speak Korean. It’s not completely impossible, just rarely heard of. Even when a foreigner does own and run their own hagwon, that still doesn’t mean you can progress from an ESL teacher to a director. Hagwons are like family businesses, and it’s tough to infiltrate and make your way to the top.

6. That TEFL qualification you paid for will come in no use whatsoever.

After I graduated from university, I knew I wanted to teach English abroad — and I wanted to be great at it. There was a lot about teaching that I needed to learn, so I signed myself up to do a 120-hour TEFL course. I learnt about classroom management, how to plan lessons, and brushed up on my English grammar.

I soon realised after arriving at my hagwon that none of that really mattered here. Nobody planned lessons, and there was no curriculum to work with. Everything was heavily book- and test-based. I spent more time learning how to create tests for my students than putting to use an ounce of the skills I learnt from my TEFL course. [image error]

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Notes on Australia's asylum policies

SERIOUS QUESTIONS have been raised about Australia’s responsibility to protect asylum seekers held in offshore detention centres after news broke that one person has been killed and 77 injured in a riot in Australia’s controversial offshore refugee processing centre on Manus Island, Papua New Guinea (PNG).

The rationale for Australia’s offshore detention and resettlement policy – and, in particular, the use of PNG as both a temporary and permanent destination for asylum seekers arriving by boat – is that it deters people from undertaking the risky maritime journey to Australia, which regularly results in drownings.

Immigration Minister, Scott Morrison, is using the location of Manus Island – on PNG soil – to deflect responsibility away from Australia. This is an intended consequence of offshoring: the diffusion of responsibility when things go wrong, making accountability and investigation that much more difficult. In what seemed like an Orwellian inspired speech, Morrison stated that “if you behave in an unruly way and in a disorderly way then you subject yourself to the response of law enforcement.” In a candid haze he carried on, saying that “the extent and nature of the subsequent events and perimeter breaches is still being verified.”

The Australian government has referred to the violence as a ‘tragedy,’ ultimately placing accusation on the refugees themselves who “decided to protest in a very violent way, to take themselves outside of the centre and place themselves at great risk.”

Organisations and NGOs’ reports from the ground render a very different perspective, stating that the detainees did not spark the violence but have been facing an onslaught of attacks by PNG locals and police from over the fences.

Australia has a duty of care toward those it detains. Once people begin dying and being seriously injured while in their custody, that undermines the bipartisan policy rationale of seeking to prevent deaths. A transparent inquiry into the circumstances in which these violations occurred is critical for providing accountability. It seems “out of sight, out of mind” has become a morally acceptable position to take on this shared, international catastrophe of asylum seekers needing protection.

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Connections we make when we travel

Photo: Daniele Zanni

Traveling gives me a sort of stimulation I can’t find elsewhere. I love the way people dress in airports — in business suits and sundresses, in hoodies and pencil skirts. Some are traveling for work, others for pleasure. You’ll never see these people again, but for a moment you share a brief window of their existence.

You might be in Paris, New York, Memphis, or Detroit, but the location doesn’t really matter because the airports nearly all look the same. It’s up to the travelers to make the human connection if they so desire.

I like the surge of excitement that flows through me when I catch someone’s eye. There’s that moment of wonder. Who are they? Where are they going? What’s in their luggage? How many stamps have they collected on their passport? I check the hand. No wedding ring. I scan their face for an indication of age. Divorced? Single? Is their trip for fun, work, or something more complicated like finalizing a divorce or attending their mother’s funeral?

When I was 18, I was sitting alone in an airport waiting for my flight to Tucson. I was moving there, I thought. I kept stealing glances with a handsome traveler. I stood up to board my flight. He came up to me and said, “You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” then walked away. I never saw him again, but I couldn’t get the experience out of my mind.

Last week I flew to Houston, and due to layovers and exchanging a later flight for a $300 travel voucher, I ended up visiting four airports in one day. At the bar I met a businessman named Luke. We bonded over dry martinis and similar music tastes. He was wearing an expensive business suit and Nike dunks.

“I usually never talk to anyone when I travel but this — this is exciting,” he said as he programmed my number into his iPhone. We said farewell as I left to find my gate. Every time I travel, I long for something similar.

On the plane I got to thinking. I thought about the other travelers I talked to in the 24 hours I was traveling from the hotel to the many airport bars I sat in. I thought about the street performer from San Francisco who told me my horoscope. I thought about the woman who asked me to pray with her before her flight. I thought about the grad student on the way home to see her parents, the 60-year-old female artist who told me at 28 I was in the prime of my life, and about the engaged couple that was headed to Mexico City on a backpacking trip before eloping.

The experience of meeting strangers and waiting together to head to unknown departures creates a feeling I long for outside of the airport. If only I could find that human connection beyond the glass windows overlooking the incoming flights. [image error]

This post was originally published at Thought Catalog and is reprinted here with permission.

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29 things about drinking

I love drinking. Like, to the point where I really don’t want to become an alcoholic so I can continue to enjoy drinking for the rest of my life. There are many problems that come along with alcohol consumption, though, and usually, our way of fixing or preventing them — whether they be hangovers, blackouts, or turning into complete douchebags when we drink — are based on lies, myths, and misconceptions.

I, for example, believed for years that, as long as I only drank one type of drink, I would not get hungover. It turns out that this is absolutely not true. Severity of hangovers, sickness, and drunkenness are not based off of the kinds of alcohol you are drinking so much as the amount. No more nights of drinking only PBR for me.

That, and 28 other misconceptions, are cleared up in this excellent video by the YouTube channel Mental Floss. Watch it and never be hungover, or out of control again. [image error]

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