Matador Network's Blog, page 2322

Inside Penthouse's abandoned palace

All photos: Author

Scantily clad Penthouse Magazine “pets” deliver pina coladas and casually spin roulette wheels. Even with punters being surrounded ten-deep by soft-porn models, happy endings at the Penthouse Adriatic Club casino always come down to the luck of the draw. Housed in the Haludovo Palace Hotel on the Croatian island of Krk, the hotel / casino / hotbed of 1970s awesomeness was the brainchild of Bob Guccione — owner of Penthouse Magazine worldwide.

Opening its lavish doors during the thick years of Josip Broz Tito’s Yugoslavia, at a cost of $45 million — in 1972, dollars were worth a lot more than they are these days — the Haludovo Hotel had a fittingly rock star ending. One year after opening, the opulent casino complex by the seaside was declared bankrupt. Bikinis were packed into suitcases, chips were cashed in, and the Pets went home. 1970s Yugoslavia? Hell yes.

After more than a year continuously on the road, it’s fair to say I spend a lot of time in hotels. However, this is not 1972 Yugoslavia, where men wore mustaches, Mexican-inspired salsa music was rocketing up the charts, and brand new brutalist concrete apartment blocks were gleaming, not decaying. This is 2013 Croatia, and as you can see from the photos, the Haludovo Palace Hotel may be fit for photographers with a bent for urban exploration — but it’s not exactly the glamorous destination it was in Bob’s days.

Haludovo Palace Hotel. Also known as the Adriatic Club Casino. On the island of Krk, Croatia.

Indoor swimming pool at the Haludovo Hotel. Come on in, the water is fine.

Not up for a swim? Perhaps a game of Ten Pen Bowling then. Penthouse Club Adriatic, Krk, Croatia.

One of the wings where the suites are located in the Haludovo Palace Hotel, Croatia.

Great mid-century modernist design. Krk, Croatia.

Elevators are out of order at the Penthouse Adriatic Club. Actually, pretty much everything is out of order these days.

Magnificent views over the Adriatic Sea. Krk, Croatia.

These days, the Haludovo sits as stark evidence that “Communist” Yugoslavia, ruled over by “Dictator” Tito, is perhaps not exactly what you thought it was. Even though the term “Iron Curtain” was coined in these parts, it’s very clear that allowing an American businessman to set up a hotel / casino so that local and foreign gamblers could throw money around whilst being waited on by Penthouse Pets is an indicator that perhaps Yugoslavia was not as communist as you may have been led to believe. And that Tito was not exactly the dictator with the heaviest fists.

Then, as now, misconceptions and misunderstandings about the former Yugoslavia filled the minds of Western citizens. Perhaps more people should have paid attention to Penthouse Magazine, the bastion and final word on all things political (I only read it for the articles), when the June 1972 edition described Haludovo as “richly located on the idyllic island of Krk, a few miles south of Trieste and directly opposite Venice, this mile-long Xanadu of glittering buildings will become for international cognoscenti a premier playground for summer and winter seasons alike.”

Every day, lobster, caviar, and champagne was consumed like it was going out of style. Because it was. There was a problem. Despite the architecture being “a gracefully colonnaded construction within whose elegant interior is the Great Lounge, bedecked with hanging gardens, pools and fountains,” and that the casino was promised to compete “with the finest casinos in Las Vegas and other principal gambling centers,” the casino component, known as the “Anglo-American Penthouse Casino,” was unfortunately restricted to only foreign gamblers. And foreigners didn’t exactly flock to Yugoslavian casinos in 1972. With such a huge expense in construction and ongoing costs, it was soon apparent that the hotel was bleeding money. This is one casino where the house didn’t always win.

But that wasn’t the end of the Haludovo. For the next 20 years, the hotel resort was operated as a worker-run enterprise, with the Penthouse kingpin breaking all ties. Right up until 1990, the hotel was profitable. And then that most Yugoslavian of beasts — war — meant that the tourists well and truly dried up. During the years of war, parts of the complex were used as a refugee camp, and the downfall of the Haludovo continued to gain momentum. Ironically, it was the brutal process of “communist” Yugoslavia transforming into capitalist Croatia that bought about the end of Bob’s palace. These days, the hotel has changed owners a few times, with the current owners seemingly not fazed that an icon of mid-century architectural grandeur continues to devolve into abandoned decay.

Yep. Out of order.

Mid-century modern. Hotel Haludovo Palace, on the island of Krk, Croatia.

Amazing ceiling details at the Haludovo. In the distance is my Croatian buddy Nikola, a fellow photographer and part-time trespasser.

Inside this sauna, I don’t really want to know.

The hotel kitchen. Lobster, caviar, bikinis.

It’s like Wheel of Fortune, urbex edition. “I’ll take a P, and an L.”

Island hopping onto the island of Krk from another one of Croatia’s stunning islands. Getting off is easy – a bridge connects Krk with the mainland.

Still, you’ve got to hand it to Bob Guccione (RIP). Although a natural assumption may be that the American uber-capitalist was interested in nothing but money and perfectly shaped women, keep in mind this quote:

There are still false ideas about Yugoslavia as a country behind the “Iron Curtain,” as a country in which a businessman or someone looking for entertainment would find nothing. The Penthouse, too, faces many prejudices, doubts and a lack of understanding. We are called non-serious exhibitionists and pornographers, incapable of and disinterested in any serious business. I think that all this is, above all, a result of ignorance. Even the cold war itself is a consequence of ignorance. In order to defeat ignorance it is necessary to develop communications between people. In this connection tourism is certainly one of the most powerful forms of communication. Through the realization of this project, the Penthouse Adriatic on Krk, we have the opportunity to start a big process of re-education: we have become partners in removing doubts and ignorance.

So, I wouldn’t go as far as calling Mr. Guccione a humanitarian, but he did seem to get a kick from doing his part to educate the rest of the world about what Yugoslavia was really like.

Bob knew, but I don’t. Without having lived through 1972 Yugoslavia, I don’t feel 100% justified in being 100% certain of what it was like. But having visited the rapidly decaying ruins of the modernist masterpiece that is the Haludovo Palace Hotel, I can be absolutely certain of one thing about Yugoslavia.

It wasn’t what you think it was. And it wasn’t what I thought it was. [image error]

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

How long-term travel benefits kids

All photos: author

1. They’ll learn a language through complete immersion.

There’s no doubt children learn languages much more quickly than adults. In fact, I’m jealous how my son Miro has become fluent in Spanish through listening, interacting, and play versus any formal study.

Experts will urge language learners to immerse themselves in the language and culture; I’d urge children to play with other native speakers. That’s the quickest and most natural way to learn, in my opinion. Long-term, slow, immersive travel grants the opportunity for children to interact, and when a non-speaker plays with a group of children who don’t speak English, all play happens in their native language. This is where I’ve seen Miro absorb vocabulary and syntax effortlessly.

There’s no doubt in my mind, play is the best and most natural way to learn a language.

2. They’ll receive a worldly education in context.

We’ve explored the artwork of Botero in Colombia, Guayasamin in Ecuador, Recinos in Guatemala. We’ve explored countless museums, studying pre-Columbian artifacts in the countries they were discovered in. We’ve traversed over 40 different ruins, spoken with noted researchers and archeologists, and developed our own ideas about history. We’ve learned the art of traditional weaving taught by the famous weavers of Chinchero.

We’ve spoken with the victims of war, listened to their stories, and empathized with their struggles, as we learned about politics and economics as expressed through the human condition. We’ve put our hands in the soil, planted native plants, and explored the historical relationship between humans and plants within the world of ethnobotany. We’ve learned about pirates, trade, and colonialism in Panama, stumbled on legends of zombies, and carried out our own investigations through local inquiry.

We’ve gone on archaeological expeditions, explored Inca graveyards, and witnessed the unveiling of 500-year-old remains. We’ve helped document the anomalies of ancient cultures, held 1,000-year-old skulls, and questioned if they were of human origin. We’ve explored the highlands, the Andes, the beaches, and the jungles and witnessed volcanoes and other geological wonders.

And that’s just to name a few. For us, immersive travel has equated to powerful experiential learning.

3. They’ll learn self-reliance and how to combat “boredom.”

As parents, how many times have we heard, “Mom, I’m bored”? Before we left on our travels, I believed it was my responsibility to keep my son entertained. Now that I’ve shifted that belief and allowed my son to discover and define his own time, and empowered him to make his own decisions regarding his interests, curing my son’s boredom has become his responsibility.

While traveling, there are always new things to stimulate, excite, and engage your child. When the external things aren’t available, my son has learned to occupy his time through drawing, reading, and writing. But the bottom line is, because self-reliance is part of his responsibility now, my son takes steps to avoid “boredom.”

4. They’ll receive incredible socialization.

My son has been to 14 countries so far, and just because he isn’t in a classroom of kids his own age for eight hours a day doesn’t mean he’s not being socialized! Travel presents opportunities to connect with people of all ages, all walks of life, all nationalities, and all professions. Socializing is a no-brainer when it comes to travel, and there isn’t another activity out there that offers such diverse social opportunities.

5. They’ll learn to see similarities instead of looking for differences.

At first, traveling through different countries and cultures, we tended to see the differences. However, over time, Miro and I have learned to see the similarities, which is a definite shift in perspective. Different cultures and customs are simply a way to express our humanity.

One example: Growing up culturally Jewish, Miro and I have zero connection to the numerous Christian / Catholic traditions throughout Latin America. We’ve seen numerous processions, been woken up by fireworks, witnessed singing masses, and often felt out of place during the praise of Jesus. But for us, the opportunity to see the overwhelming community connection has been momentous. Although we don’t have the same beliefs, culture, traditions, or customs, we do share a collective humanity.

6. They’ll practice tolerance and acceptance.

This will benefit you as well as your child(ren). Through travel, we’re granted that magical opportunity to practice tolerance and acceptance on a daily basis. Travel brings out the worst (and the best) in people. Living in close proximity with one another full-time, you get plenty of opportunity to practice this lesson, thanks to each other’s quirks.

Although Miro and I are a small family, we often have other travelers come in and out of our lives. We think we’ve gotten pretty good at tolerance and acceptance, but we find we’re still challenged when we have people staying with us. I can imagine the challenges a larger family must face in terms of honoring each other’s space, needs, and preferences.

7. They’ll learn patience.

In conventional non-traveling lifestyles, patience is expected but rarely practiced, as routines, schedules, and obligations often become the norm. Travel is the opposite; the unexpected is expected, and there are so many times when there’s nothing to do but “wait.” Waiting in long lines, check-in, security procedures, and boarding all require patience. So does embarking on 30-hour bus rides. The opportunities to experience and practice patience become limitless during travel.

8. They’ll learn group decision making.

As parents, we say “your opinion matters.” But children’s voices are often quieted in conventional life, as routines, schedules, and responsibilities take a priority. However, traveling provides the perfect platform to encourage all voices to be heard and to create equity among the group (family) as a unified unit. Practicing group dynamics is one of the most important life lessons, and encouraging your children to speak up and share their needs, desires, and interests can be a valuable way to learn it.

Through consciously focusing on what is best for the group, every voice must be heard and each person has the opportunity to exercise positive leadership in one circumstance or another. On the flip side, grace and compromise become essential. You can’t teach this stuff in books — this sort of lesson must be learned. Miro and I continue to practice it over and over, and we’ve gotten better at the compromise part, but in all honesty, it’s not easy.

9. They’ll learn adaptability.

When you travel, things ultimately do go wrong. There’s no avoiding it — things get lost, there are unexpected weather conditions, issues come up surrounding transportation, and places are closed when they’re supposed to be open. Being able to adapt or make do is an important lesson in flexibility and letting go of expectations. This is one of those lessons you get to practice over and over as a long-term traveler, so learning to laugh is always a better solution than crying.

10. They’ll become experts in real-world problem solving, budgets, and logistics.

Through travel, Miro has had the opportunity to make practical decisions, solve problems in context, and plan and budget our lives. You can’t get any more real-world than that. I don’t believe children are often empowered or engaged on this level in conventional life and often leave their parents’ house unprepared and inexperienced. (I know I was.) Miro helps on every level of our trip planning from selecting our next location, researching itineraries online, helping us find rentals, researching places to explore, etc.

Additionally, Miro and I look at our money as “ours,” and he knows exactly how much we have, when we have it, and what our budget is for the month. If Miro wants to plan a particular excursion for us, he can do it, but he considers our overall budget first. He’s empowered to take what he needs, as he never needs to ask if he can have anything, and I trust his decisions. Revolutionary, huh?

11. You’ll experience the world through your child’s eyes.

Travel offers new sights, sounds, flavors, and experiences, but as adults, sometimes we become desensitized to these sensations. Our children allow us to see the world freshly through their eyes and allow us to experience the world through a renewed child-like perspective. I hope to never lose sight of this quality inside of me ever again. (Thank you Miro.)

12. You’ll learn to trust the process.

Many parents are reluctant to trust the natural learning process. I came from an evidential system, where I believed education only happened when I could measure progress. However, travel reveals curiosity and sparks interest where it wasn’t before, which is evidence of natural learning. (It happened within me, too!)

Once you witness interests being born in your child that were never there before and listen to his/her reflections, you realize they’ve processed a new understanding based on the immersive travel experience. For me, my eyes lit up when I realized Miro was learning naturally and that the world, indeed, has become his classroom.

13. You’ll learn together.

As we know, learning happens naturally. One of the greatest gifts our travel lifestyle has granted us has been being exposed to new things together. What makes these opportunities so different from a formal educational setting, where learning is passive, is that travel is participatory by nature. When a group of two or more are having the same experience, it invites the opportunity to process the experiences through conversation, which reinforces a deeper learning.

Formal education removes the family element from the learning process. Travel brings it back.

14. You’ll collect memories, not things.

Collecting things becomes problematic when you’re traveling. You literally feel the weight of your possessions, burdened by the responsibility of them, and zapped energy-wise logistically managing them. The question then becomes, “Do I really want that thing?”

Buying things requires spending our limited budget on them instead of doing something together. Our preference now is to choose the experience over the possession. But that transition took time and was not simple. We had to give up the American Dream first. Miro and I used to be the owner of many things, a 2,000-square-foot loft filled with everything imaginable. Miro had every toy he ever wanted. But through travel we’ve traded every one of those possessions for experiences, and we’ve truly gained much more in return. Can you just imagine everything you own fitting into a single backpack or suitcase? We can.

15. You’ll create a stronger bond between you and your child(ren).

I didn’t want to miss Miro’s childhood. That was one of the motivations for embarking on this journey together. If we hadn’t, I was afraid I’d miss all of it within a blink of the eye. But what I never imagined was the incredible bond that’s formed as a result of our choices. Regardless of what happens in our lives in the future, together we’ve forged a bond that I can only hope all parents will experience with their children.

We’ve traveled together, had adventures together, learned together, and enjoyed life together. Through travel, Miro and I have created a bond based on trust, being present for one another, and the joy life has granted us.

16. You’ll experience “global citizenship” together.

Through our travels, Miro and I have shifted how we perceive our identities. We’ve learned that humanity is our family and the world our home. Global citizenship has become our way of thinking and behaving, with the belief that we can make a difference in the world. Through our travels, we’ve learned it’s our responsibility to value the earth as precious and unique, and we must act to safeguard it’s life and resources for future generations.

We’ve learned we must honor all of humanity as our family, all with diverse backgrounds and opinions, no better, no worse than our own. We’ve learned to identify with humanity first before we start narrowing our beliefs, passing judgment, viewing one another as somehow separate from oneself.

Miro and I have learned that the purpose of life is really about authentically connecting with one another no matter where we’re standing, or which direction we’re heading. [image error]

This post was originally published at Raising Miro and is reprinted here with permission.

The crazily endearing slang of Argentina

IN THE SPIRIT of “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” this kid Dustin Luke just KILLS the acento porteño!

I guess I’ve just been looking for some solidarity after having been flamed over the last 24 hrs for my article How to piss off an Argentine.

Queridos, you’re missing the point. If we didn’t love your culture, we wouldn’t listen so carefully to how y’all speak, viste?

Lead image: Martin Terber

Things Argentines say

IN THE SPIRIT of “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” this kid Dustin Luke just KILLS the acento porteño!

I guess I’ve just been looking for some solidarity after having been flamed over the last 24 hrs for my article How to piss off an Argentine.

Queridos, you’re missing the point. If we didn’t love your culture, we wouldn’t listen so carefully to how y’all speak, viste?

Lead image: Martin Terber

How to piss off someone from France

Photo: Sylvain

It doesn’t usually take much to enrage a French person; we are a hot-blooded people. And be warned, when we get pissed off, “oulala,” our levels of arrogance and smugness just go through the roof. We get so furious that we stuff ourselves on baguettes and stinky cheese while preparing our next move — probably some kind of angry protest.

Does this sound like a fun way to spend your time in the most romantic country in the world? If so, go ahead, follow these tips and push our buttons.

Assume my dad’s got a mistress.

Sorry to disappoint, but no, no he doesn’t. Frankly, if he did I don’t think I’d be talking about it casually with some stranger — it seems slightly disrespectful to my mother.

Let’s make things clear and crack this myth: French people, men and women alike, don’t get into committed relationships to better cheat on their partners. And just so you know, people are just as unfaithful everywhere else as they are in France, and it’s no more socially acceptable here.

That being said, I’m fairly sure the recent news of our President riding on a scooter around Paris, like some hormone-filled pizza delivery boy, to meet his mistress for some hot French sex, doesn’t help our reputation.

Assume we’re all from Paris.

Every time I go to France for a visit and return to Canada, there’s always someone to ask: “How was your stay in Paris?”

“I didn’t go to Paris.”

“Oh, I thought you were going to visit your family in France…?”

“Yeah, I did. We live about 450 kilometres from Paris. It’s a 5-hour drive.”

There are 65.7 million people living in France, and guess what? They aren’t all from Paris! Some of us (about 63 million) are spread around the rest of country, where the grass in much greener (at least we know what grass looks like). Nothing makes a French person madder than being mistaken for a Parisian — we hate them, or, to be more precise, we hate their lifestyle, the way they drive, their rudeness, and most of all, we hate the fact that they think we are all peasants.

Tell us how easy we have it.

Yes, we like strikes, and yes, we like protests. We thoroughly enjoy spending hours in the streets fighting for our rights. On those special days, we take our kids with us and chant for the decapitation by guillotine of some members of our government. Calling us whiners or a bunch of angry socialists won’t change a thing, because we enjoy making signs and blocking public buildings for weeks on end.

Now if you want to piss us off, tell us how easy we have it. Tell us you wish you had (almost) free education in your homeland. Tell us you’d like to have the same wonderful healthcare system, while mentioning how ridiculous our constant complaints sound to your ears. These advantages didn’t just land in our laps, and they won’t just land in yours.

Suggest there are other cuisines worth trying in the world.

French food is highly praised all over the world, and this is well-deserved — have you ever been to a French bakery? We’re very proud of our food and maybe a little xenophobic when other cuisines are mentioned or, inexplicably, attempt to steal our gold medal title.

My dad: “What do you eat in Canada anyways?”

Me: “Lots of good stuff. I made a carrot cake the other day. It was very good.”

My dad: “A cake with carrots? What the hell, can’t they use chocolate like everybody else.”

Me: “They do that too.” (I’ll wait for a while before mentioning kale chips, methinks.)

Mention you’re a vegetarian.

The French still have not incorporated this fascinating word into their language.

“Do you eat fish?”

“No, fish is an animal, and I don’t eat animals.”

After looking you up and down to find evidence of early dementia, “Well what do you eat then?”

A good way to not end up being despised for eternity or denounced to the French immigration agency for immediate deportation is to shrug your shoulders and pretend you just don’t eat. Definitely don’t mention tofu, or that will be the end of you.

You’ll have to deal with the consequences of your confession for the rest of your stay — i.e., you’ll be grilled on the topic of the very questionable ethics and practicality of the strange cult you belong to, and you’ll only be served green beans and boiled potatoes, at best!

Practice your poor language skills with us.

So, you studied French in high school and have barely spoken the language since then (about 10 years), but when you meet one of us, you can’t help but start reciting a long string of poorly pronounced words: “Salutcommentçavamoiça vacommecicommeça.”

You mean well. You either want to be helpful by talking to me in my native language, or you just want to connect with me in some mysterious way. The thing is, I do speak English, and my English seems to be a lot better than your French, so we should stick to that vernacular before I nod off.

Also, don’t start blaming me for the difficulties you encountered years ago with French grammar. If you can’t use the subjunctive properly, remember that I didn’t come up with the language and that, just like you, I’m a victim of the language’s crazy arbitrary rules. [image error]

Terrorism and daily life in Tel Aviv

Photo: Victor Bezrukov

A few days ago there was a terrorist attack ten minutes from my house. And it didn’t matter at all.

I was in the middle of a spirited game of Bananagrams with my seven-year-old babysitting charge when a ringing cell phone interrupted my stunning, and fully orchestrated, defeat. I left my opponent in the middle of R-O-L-L-E-R-S-K-A-T-E-S to take the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?” Since moving to Tel Aviv in the thick, humid summer of 2012, I had developed the kind of relationship with the colleagues of my masters program that quickly and frequently transcended the need for telephone pleasantries.

“Babysitting. Why?”

The caller, my good friend, former housemate, and Miami-bartender-turned-intelligence-analyst, Natalie, stated plainly: “Something happened. There was another bus bombing. In Bat Yam.”

* * *

Whenever “something” happens in Israel, there’s always a very similar progression of actions that follow. A hasty, breathless phone call from a friend is followed by a mental scan of people you know in the area is followed by a flurry of texts, WhatsApp inquiries, phone calls, and Facebook messages is followed by scrolling through pictures of shattered bus windows on Ynet that evening. Sometimes, if the “something” is particularly bad, or lethal, the international news will catch wind of it, and you will sit up at 1am explaining to your grandparents in Wisconsin in practiced, patient tones that “it wasn’t even a bus route I use normally,” which means exactly nothing to them.

As commonplace as Israel’s culture of volatility has become to me, I often neglect to consider how jarring it is for my family to hear these reports I sometimes forget to even mention. I never thought I would use Google Earth to show my mother that incoming rocket strikes from Gaza are still “far away” from my Tel Aviv home, listening to her tongue trip over the Hebrew city names on the map. It’s difficult to explain to them that the “somethings” I’ve seen in my 17 months in Israel are small potatoes; the months I’ve lived here are some of the most peaceful in this nation’s recent history. Where I live now, “peace” is measured in relative terms.

* * *

“Yeah, no, I’m at work. I’m fine.”

“Okay, I’ve gotta run. Call you later.”

My anxious fingers have confused the touch display of my cellphone, and now the screen is frozen. I don’t live in Bat Yam. After finally conceding I was too broke to be spending my thesis year renting in the absurdly expensive neighborhoods of the Old North, I’d recently relocated to the city’s southern suburbs. Consequently, I ride a bare minimum of four buses each day to reach my English tutoring and babysitting commitments around the greater Tel Aviv area. I don’t live in Bat Yam. But the family of my Israeli boyfriend does.

She, like nearly every Israeli over the age of 18, knows how to fire an M-16.

The apartment where he slept for 16 years — where his mother and sister still reside — including the room where he keeps his old army gear, his stacks of high school report cards, and a fading poster of Angelina Jolie, are all a two-minute drive from where a bus has just exploded. My phone is still frozen and Shira is crowing victoriously from the kitchen table. R-O-L-L-E-R-S-K-A-T-E-S. Twelve points.

* * *

My boyfriend Yaniv works in technical support in Petach Tikva. Last summer, after a year of fitful adventures in online dating, I had dwindling expectations that I’d ever meet someone worth staying in Israel for. I was halfheartedly entertaining job prospects on three different continents the night he first asked me to dinner.

After a futile, 30-minute search for parking in his mother’s screechy white Suzuki, I was ready to suggest an alternative date, but he stubbornly persisted until we squeezed into the last remaining space in the port’s parking lot. I was unsure, but his wide smile, generous laughter, and warm, perfectly-toasted-marshmallow skin eventually thawed my cynicism. Nowadays, he makes me eggs every morning and playfully chases me around the apartment we share.

* * *

The WhatsApp icon finally submits to my nervous pecking, and I fire off a quick message:

“Honey, there was a bomb or something on a bus in bat yam. Bus 142. They are shutting down all entrances to bat yam.”

“Yeah I read something about it.”

“ L ”

Just as I set down my phone, Shira’s mother Rachel comes bustling through the door, arms full of party hats, bags of bamba, and party decorations for her four-year-old daughter’s birthday celebration at preschool next week. As she flutters around the kitchen putting things away, she and Shira speak together in rapid-fire Hebrew, a language I still only speak with shy, bumbling inadequacy. After cooing over her daughter’s crookedly scrawled English homework, she turns to me.

“How are you, Jennifer?” She pronounces the “r” in my name with a typical Israeli purr.

“Something happened in Bat Yam.”

Rachel recognizes the tone in my voice. She is a dusty blonde, soft-spoken, and perpetually distracted psychotherapist with two jobs and two children, but she, like nearly every Israeli over the age of 18, knows how to fire an M-16. She has served in the Israeli military, just as her daughters will when they graduate high school. In her lifetime, Israel has seen roughly ten recognized wars and operations. She knows what “something” means. She glances at me.

“B-O-M-B,” I mouth soundlessly over her seven-year-old’s head.

She nods.

“Was anybody…?”

“No.” Not this time.

She turns to the sink full of dishes as Shira erupts into a fit of giggles watching Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” video for the thousandth time. We don’t say any more about it as Rachel hastily packs her daughters’ sack lunches, because it doesn’t matter. Whoever placed a duffel bag containing a crockpot of explosives on the bus has not been found, and nobody has claimed responsibility. Nobody was hurt this time, so it’s unlikely to make the international news. We’ll never know who did it. We probably won’t even remember this particular attack in a week, or a month, or a year. It’s just another thin layer of anxiety, another small trauma, and another day in Israel. [image error]

Note: Personal names in this story have been changed.

Winter in a remote mountain yurt

Just what exactly does one do in a backcountry yurt during winter in the Colorado mountains? MatadorU student Brian Lewis’ film answers that question in a way that’s simple, but inspiring.

Matador Productions editor Eric Warren caught up with Brian to ask him a few questions about the film, and why he chose to tell this story with video.

[image error]

EW: The film blends beautiful visuals with compelling narrative voice-over. What were some of your influences both in film and writing?

BL: I was influenced by the simplistic lifestyle that one ends up experiencing in a place like a yurt. When you strip away modern conveniences and spend a few days high in the mountains in the dead of winter, your mind clears and you starting thinking differently about what’s important. You fall into a routine that’s very different from your normal “civilized” life. Having done several yurt trips before this one, I knew what to expect and I was mainly influenced by trying to capture that feeling and routine. I wrote most of the narrative at the yurt and was inspired by the sights, sounds, and smells around me and the things we’d done that day.

I’d love to hear the story behind the film. What was your original goal putting together this film?

With this film I set out to try and answer the question: “Why?” This was my sixth winter doing a yurt trip in Colorado, and it typically seemed when people heard about what I was doing, their first instinct was to question my sanity. For many people, the idea of snowshoeing for hours with a heavy pack to reach a remote canvas structure in the dead of winter seems a bit ridiculous, especially when they learn there’s no electricity, cell service, running water, indoor toilet, or room service. So my main purpose for the film was to try and provide some reasoning for this “thing we do.”

What made you choose to tell this story through film? What about film makes it the perfect storytelling device for this story in particular?

Film allowed me to blend narrative audio, time-lapse photography, video imagery, and sound effects to tell the story and convey a sense of place. With the visuals I wanted to depict the safety, warmth, and comfort of the yurt’s interior and contrast that with wide shots of sweeping landscapes and the beautiful but unforgiving nature outside the yurt. The sound design complemented this with wind sweeping through the exterior scenes and “comfort sounds” like crackling fire and bacon frying in the interior scenes. Only in film is such a blending of media possible. [image error]

These Olympic uniforms are so ugly, even the US State Department warns athletes not to wear them

I’VE SEEN SOME ghastly photos of Sochi’s Olympic preparedness (or lack thereof) circulating the internet, containing run-down hotel rooms, dodgy toilets, and wifi modems dangling from circuit boards, but nothing has offended me so much as the US Winter Olympic team uniforms.

Even the US State Department thinks these costumes could do some serious emotional damage: they’ve issued a warning discouraging athletes from wearing this, and other team gear, outside of the Olympic arenas. As if the Sochi Olympics aren’t already riddled with bomb threats from terrorists, and inhumane living conditions, now people can’t even wear their own clothing safely.

(Via)

While I’m happy the uniforms were actually manufactured within the United States (as opposed to the 2012 Summer Olympic uniforms, which were manufactured mainly in China), Ralph Lauren seriously couldn’t come up with a better design than something Bill Cosby would have worn on the Fourth of July? It’ll be interesting to see how many “Ugly Olympic Sweater” parties, and cheesy photographs, arise from this design travesty.

How to break up while traveling

Photo: Robert Vitulano

You’re sitting in a hostel in Marrakech and that perfect curly-headed Coloradan with gorgeous eyes plunks down beside you; a few days later, you’ve agreed to travel together, and a few months later, you’re holding hands and pretending you’re married when you try to check into hotels in India. You’ve traveled together, seen each other drunk, and had some really intense moments…but now the bloom is starting to wear off the rose.

Or it could be that you started a trip with your sweetie, and as the road unfurls in front of you, they’re seeming less and less sweet, until finally the thought of another day listening to them chew makes you want to climb out the hostel window.

How do you end your relationship when you’re a thousand miles from home?

Don’t be a jerk.

Whether you’ve known your partner for two months or two years, you liked them enough to want to spend a whole lot of time with them. Unless something really dramatic has happened, chances are you still care about and respect them. So don’t wait until they’re asleep and check out of your shared hotel room with all your stuff. Don’t have a screaming match in the middle of Barcelona. Don’t act like an asshole in the hopes they’ll break up with you. All classic maneuvers in the breakup pantheon, these tricks can hurt even worse when someone is far from home and their support network.

Furthermore, just disappearing or causing a fight can actually be quite dangerous if you leave your partner stranded in an unfamiliar place or surrounded by ruffians. I had an abusive ex who used to threaten to break up with me while we were out exploring labyrinthine cities and refuse to tell me the way back to the hotel. Seriously uncool.

Value good communication.

While the temptation to just shout “I don’t like you anymore!” and run away is overwhelming, things will actually probably be easier overall if you try to maintain some standards of good communication. Don’t start out with, “We need to talk,” because nothing strikes fear and anxiety into someone’s heart like hearing that from a partner. Try something like, “I have some thoughts I’d like to share.”

That said, speak honestly, and listen actively. You might feel defensive, attacked, or angry — don’t let your emotions color what the other person is saying, and do your best to understand them. Use I-statements (like “I feel like we got too close too fast and I’m not ready for a serious relationship”) instead of you-statements (like “You’re too jealous, that’s why I’m breaking up with you”) — aside from allowing you to clearly state how you feel without assigning blame to your partner, they’re also very hard to argue with. If you say you feel angry, your partner can’t very well tell you, “No, you don’t.” You know how you feel!

That said, if the other person is abusive, or not listening, it’s okay to back away.

If the other person is abusing you verbally or emotionally, or refuses to listen to what you say, just say, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” and leave. Really. No matter how upset someone is, they do not have the right to attack or abuse you. You don’t have to stay and “take it” because you feel guilty about the breakup.

Don’t try to ease things apart by suggesting that you keep travelling together.

Once you’ve had the breakup conversation, you should politely pack up your things and leave — if not the city, then go to another lodging. You can say you’re planning to do this so your now-ex has the option to leave him/herself — just saying, “I’ll move to a different hotel tonight.” is fine. Everyone thinks they can be friends with the person they were in a relationship with, and a lot of people can…but not right away, and especially not in a situation where you’ll be all up in each other’s grill in locations as notoriously intrusive as hostel common rooms.

Traveling together is intimate and personal. Give yourselves some space. If you really think you can be friends, keep in touch by email and revisit each other when you get back to your country of origin. I have a good friend who recommends having absolutely no contact with your ex for two months after the breakup — this is much easier to accomplish when traveling, because you can literally disappear into the mountains of Borneo and your paths may never cross again.

Treat yourself with kindness.

There are many reasons to break up with someone. “I just don’t want to date that person anymore,” is as good a reason as any. Don’t torture yourself wondering if your reason for the breakup was good enough, just because your partner wasn’t cheating on you or beating you up. (If your partner WAS beating you up, you are definitely making the right decision.)

Being the one who instigates a breakup means you get a boatload of guilt over hurting the other person, as well as your own, often conflicted, feelings about the end of your relationship. You’ll probably question your decision, feel like you need to comfort them, or be scared at the prospect of traveling alone. All of these are okay, and you’ll deal with them. Take a few days off and sit in your room and eat snacks. Read terrible novels. Write in your journal.

What if everything goes wrong? Keep the end in mind.

Let’s say you forgot all your good communication skills and shouted or they shouted or threw all your stuff out the window of your second-floor sublet. Let’s say they cried or you cried or you caught them in bed with someone else (if that’s outside the rules of your relationship).

Try to keep the end in mind: The end goal is that you don’t want to be in a relationship with this person anymore. If it all falls apart in a really dramatic, spectacular fashion, or someone gets their feelings monumentally hurt, just get out. Any way you can. Even if it means leaving your dignity or your favorite sunglasses behind. The faster you get away, the faster you’ll be able to move on…literally and figuratively. [image error]

How to get anything done faster

I’VE BEEN ON A RAMPAGE recently as far as productivity. Basically it just comes down to organizing outcomes in advance of each day as opposed to just mechanically “diving in” to my email / tasks as I used to. It’s making a huge difference. It’s actually very similar to the mindset I wrote about yesterday in terms of eating better. It’s not about making radical shifts; you just have to begin paying more attention to your own habits.

In all of this I’ve been studying the way different people use psychological “tricks” to train their minds and change their attitudes. This dude Sean’s approach of taking a “5 second countdown” is a prefect example. You just have to figure out a way to break whatever patterns you’re in now. What do you think about the countdown method? What works for you?

Feature image: HckySo via Compfight cc