Rolf Potts's Blog, page 42

Unique angles sell your travel writing

Vagablogging :: Rolf Potts Vagabonding Blog

Before you get to the right angle, you might find yourself stuck in a dangerous corner/ picture by Kit Yeng Chan

The email you have been waiting for a long time has finally landed in your inbox. Fat, juicy, inviting bold caps lure your eyes in. It’s no matter of life or death, but if you are serious in your battle to become a published writer, these news can make or break you.

That editor has finally ANSWERED you. Oh yes. Your heartbeat has switched to reverberating mode, so much that you feel it in your temples. You are bulging with anticipation: then you point the mouse, you open it because you can’t stand this anymore. Make.It.Or.Break.It.

At the beginning, provided you get one, 90% of the times the answer is no.

“Thanks for your pitch, but it’s not for us” your throat gets dry, and you feel a weird itchiness under the eyes. It can totally spoil the rest of your day. For certain, pitching editors is best done developing a thick skin, like a hippopotamus, and a sense of humour. Otherwise, it’s probably best you give up this craft altogether.

Primadonnas who think their ideas and prose are like the Untouchables should maybe try acting, or other artistic avenues. Travel writing, or better, ANY kind of good writing, is a craft that can be only learned if one is willing to swallow his pride, and get well ready to start sweeping the floor like a janitor. No pain no gain, like at the bloody gym.

The key in the pitch is the ANGLE. The right idea. Which is right because is catchy, direct and really original. Now, if you want to blog for yourself, originality is recommended, but not paramount. Because you have no filters, no gatekeepers. But if you want to impress any editor, oh boy, you really must be able to fly over the competition, and have something fresh to say.

Who am I to say so? Well, I am someone who got so many rejections he probably could have started doing something else, but to the contrary, has kept trying and learning from his own mistakes. I learned how to look around myself during my travels, to really consider the three dimensions of the world, and even that fourth which hangs overhead, and not everybody can tap in, let alone see. Call it a coincidence or the results of hard work, but after one year of really working my a$$ off fine-tuning the angles of my stories, I bump into a group of Malay Nazi skinheads, and my mind goes boom.

I start toying with the idea of a crazy subcultural novel that mixes the best of travel writing with gritty urban pulp, and I decide to use my experience in Malaysia as a background. The characters literally flow out of my mind as I type down the first three chapters, and I keep writing until a first draft is finished in few months of early morning work, when nobody’s still too awake to distract me. I’m certainly proud, but also worried about what to do with the manuscript.

How many more rejections can I take before I plunge into the abyss of depression?    

Amazingly, the publisher I contacted is enthusiastic about my Nazi Goreng, and wants to publish it. Wham bam, after a long wait, book’s out and it quickly becomes a bestseller in Malaysia. In 5 months, it goes for second print. Trust me here: I might have been lucky, but I didn’t spend a single dollar in agents, promotion or whatever else.

How did you do it?

Simple: go back and read the beginning of this post. It was the angle. A unique, tailored, compelling, gripping and particular angle that nobody used yet.

Too hard to find?

Well, I’m very sorry but that’s the only way to do it. And be advised, at last: getting published doesn’t make you rich. It just puts you one step ahead of the competition. The necessity of a great angle is still there. I learned to cultivate it as an organic vegetable garden, and now, assignments start to become easier to get.

Your best suggestion to find that special angle?

Deadpan simple: be yourself. The world’s always the same, and it’s up to you making your unique set of eyes worth publishing. Now, go back to write, you already lost enough time.

MARCO FERRARESE is a metalpunk guitarist who travelled extensively and lived in Italy, the United States, China, Australia and Malaysia. Since 2009 he’s been based in Southeast Asia as a writer, hardcore punk musician and researcher. He travelled from Mongolia to Australia in 2009, and hitchhiked from Singapore to Milano through Silk Road routes and the Middle East in 2012. He blogs at monkeyrockworld.com. Marco’s first Asian pulp novel Nazi Goreng  was published in November 2013 on Monsoon Books. Follow him @monkeyrockworld

Original article can be found here: Unique angles sell your travel writing

Does the journey ever truly end?

Vagablogging :: Rolf Potts Vagabonding Blog

The never-ending road (Namibia)

Boarding that last flight of a particular journey is often bittersweet. The excitement and amazement that comes with the planning, preparation and execution of travel may be ending but the thousands of moments experienced, memories created, lessons learned and new perspectives gained remain. More often than not, it is in the aftermath of a journey that we, as travelers, are more greatly affected than we could have ever imagined.

It’s not just the destinations, the passport stamps, or the places ticked off a list. Mindsets, perspective, choices, how we view the world and where we see ourselves in our future-all of these things are altered. Upon our return, each day is still met with the zest for adventure. A new perspective arises in so many aspects of our lives that will never be the same as in our pre-travel self.

For some of us, it’s planning the next adventure before this one ends. For others it’s the start of life anew returning to the same place, in the same body but as someone who’s been touched by life around the globe. For others it’s taking stock of what we’ve found truly matters and shifting direction in location, profession, beliefs or life’s choices. No matter what, that journey started by one single step (or leap), continues. It could be as simple as the smile at a memory of a local market while shopping at your nearest super store or that spark of magic triggered by a specific scent or symbolic song.

The memories, photos, people, relationships, journeys and the lessons live on in the every day as life’s adventures both small and large. Sometimes we need a little help, something to hold onto to remind us that we have the ability to keep the adventure alive. It may be the magnet from that far off land now hoisted upon your refrigerator. It may be that spectacular shot now living as your screensaver at the office. It may be that spice you trekked through customs that recreates a dish from a your favourite haunt. It may be that article of clothing purchased from a community that gave you so much more than your few coins could ever repay. Or perhaps it’s nothing tangible at all, but it’s the new perspective garnered through travel, purpose, and experience that affects your daily life. Whether an item or an idea we can be sure to continue that journey.

Wherever you are in your travels…here’s to the never-ending road.

How do you continue your journey?

 

Original article can be found here: Does the journey ever truly end?

Vagabonding Case Study: Theodora Sutcliffe

Vagablogging :: Rolf Potts Vagabonding Blog

Theodora Sutcliffe
 EscapeArtistes.com
Age: 39

Hometown: London

Quote: “Leaving is the hardest part. Everything else is easy.”

How long were you on the road? 

Four years.

Where did you go? 

China, Mongolia, Nepal, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Laos, Vietnam, Timor Leste, Indonesia, Cambodia, The Philippines, Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Israel/Palestine, Turkey, England, The Netherlands, Italy, Greece, Bulgaria, France.

What was your job or source of travel funding for this journey? 

The first year was funded by proceeds from a house sale. After that, I worked freelance as a writer — copywriter, journalist, blogger and content writer — and I’m now lucky enough to be able to sell the occasional photo.

Did you work or volunteer on the road? 

I’m lucky enough to be able to earn money remotely, so that’s what I did. I’d worked as a journalist in the food and drink sector before I left, but I’m now fortunate enough to do a lot of travel writing, including writing about diving, which I love. That’s sprung, directly or indirectly, almost entirely from the blog.

Of all the places you visited, which was your favorite? 

Oh, big question! I’d have to go with Indonesia, as that’s where we’ve chosen to settle: with all the diversity across 17,000 islands, it’s impossible to get bored, and it’s a world class diving destination.

Was there a place that was your least favorite, or most disappointing, or most challenging? 

I found Vietnam really difficult on our first encounter: I was acutely sensitive to “scams” in the way many new travellers are — then returned a second time and loved it. I suspect I’d have found China difficult in the same way if we’d visited early in our journey.

Which travel gear proved most useful?  Least useful? 

We’re not really gear people. That said, Zac’s dad bought him a Deuter Fox 30 backpack which has lasted well over three years and shows no sign of dying. Least useful? 

What are the rewards of the vagabonding lifestyle? 

Freedom! The chance to stay when you like a place, move on when you don’t, and the financial freedom of not being tied into a home base with all the sunk costs that entails.

What are the challenges and sacrifices of the vagabonding lifestyle? 

The reason that we’ve stopped is that Zac wanted a fixed circle of friends and regular schooling — friendships made on the road are different from friendships made in a neighbourhood.

What lessons did you learn on the road? 

People are fundamentally good and kind.

How did your personal definition of “vagabonding” develop over the course of the trip? 

The longer we travelled, the longer our stops became — and I think that’s typical of most longterm travellers. By our fourth year I was counting a stop as long as four months as “slow travel”.

If there was one thing you could have told yourself before the trip, what would it be? 

Make sure you get plenty of pictures of the two of you together: you’ll value them far more than landscapes, and you’ll never get those years back.

Any advice or tips for someone hoping to embark on a similar adventure? 

Stop planning, stop worrying and just go. Leaving is the hardest part. Everything else is easy.

When and where do you think you’ll take your next long-term journey? 

That depends what you mean by longterm. If Zac spends some of this summer with his father, I’ll probably do a few weeks solo, either overland in India or diving Indonesia. If we’re talking about six months plus, that’ll need to wait until Zac’s started college, and that’ll probably be Africa, a region in which he has no interest.

Read more about Theodora & Zac on their blog, Escape Artistes, or follow them on Facebook and Twitter

Website: Escape Artistes
Twitter: @escapeartistes

Are you a Vagabonding reader planning, in the middle of, or returning from a journey? Would you like your travel blog or website to be featured on Vagabonding Case Studies? If so, drop us a line at casestudies@vagabonding.net and tell us a little about yourself.

Original article can be found here: Vagabonding Case Study: Theodora Sutcliffe

5 tips for how not to chase a deal

Vagablogging :: Rolf Potts Vagabonding Blog

Hotel and airline “deals” are a big part my long-term travel strategy. My husband and I are constantly chasing promotions if we think they’ll help us gain another day, week, or month on the road. In fact, quite often we find ourselves making our travel plans based on the deals we find.

We’ve learned a lot about living out of hotels. You can read about our general tips for living out of hotels here. But in the process of cultivating that list of tips, we’ve made definitely had some flops.

For instance last summer we found a list of hotels throughout Germany that had been mistakenly priced at around $20 for a week’s stay. In our circles this is called a “mistake-fare.” It’s always up to the hotel as to whether or not they’ll actually honor this kind of accidental rate or not but in the case of these Germany hotels, they approved. The first hotel booked under this mistake-fare rate, a hotel not far from downtown Berlin, was great. The second one on the other hand was in the middle of an industrial park far from any of the beautiful sites Hamburg had to offer.

While the comforts we agree to give up for a good deal may vary from person to person, there are a few general “do’s” and “don’t's” that may be helpful across the gamut.

As someone who has chased a lot of deals…and made lots of mistakes as well, I’ve created a list of general rules for how not to chase a deal.

How not to chase a deal.

1.) While it’s ok to go somewhere you know nothing about specifically for a deal, don’t go somewhere you aren’t interested in for a deal, and don’t be afraid to ditch the deal and leave if you find that’s the case when you arrive.

If you are a person who works online as you go, it’s not always important to be in a place that stimulates your curiosity if you’re in a place that instead stimulates your work stamina! However, being a place you hate is not likely to be a place that stimulates anything but negativity. A deal isn’t worth that.

2.) Don’t forget to factor in what your price-cut is going to cost you.

In other words, sometimes you get what you pay for. In the example I gave above the awesome price cost us a good location. There was not even a cheap restaurant in walking distance let alone a place to get internet or laundry or any of the other needs that come up. So staying at our “good deal” hotel probably would have doubled our food budget, taxi budget, and internet budget as we usually choose hotels with internet included.

3.) Not all that glitters is gold…and not all hotel points and airline miles are useful.

Loyalty programs are becoming really popular so every hotel and airline seems to have one. But some of them are more “fluffy” than others and you may find yourself feeling fairly disappointed when you’ve made a few hotel stays for the sake of a promotion only to find the hotel chain is a regional hotel with very few locations you’ll be able to use. Or only to find that the points expire in a short amount of time.

4.) Don’t let luxury convince you a deal is better than it is.

This really comes down to letting math guide you out of the enticing siren-song of luxury. Fifty-percent off of something twice as much as your normal budget brings you back down to your normal budget. That’s not really a good deal, it’s just a special treat. It doesn’t necessarily help you stretch your budget even if it does give you a good experience. Maybe you’ll decide it’s worth it and that’ s totally fine. But don’t get into the habit of going for “deals” on luxury that trick you into spending a little bit more than your ordinary budget. (At least, not without simultaneously earning enough points to make up for it later as discussed in my previous post about how luxury hotels can save us money).

5.) Don’t sample a really great deal when you could go big.

We’ve done some wacky things for really good deals. One time Club Carlson was offering a brief promotion of 50,000 points (enough for up to ten free nights) per stay. This means that every time you make a stay, regardless of how many nights your stay included, you’d earn 50,000 points. Even though we felt funny about it, the hotel had plenty of unsold rooms so we each got a room for the night despite being a married couple. We didn’t even use the second room but we paid for it knowing we could get more than our money’s worth out of it in free stays with the points we’d be earning.

If the hotel had been close to full occupancy I would have felt too guilty about occupying more space than we needed, but as it was, the hotel certainly didn’t mind us paying for a second room that would have otherwise gone unsold. And we certainly didn’t mind paying for a room that would earn us 10 free nights.

Even with our 100,000 point earnings, we quickly regretted only making two stays during that promotion.

Conclusion

Ultimately every traveler has their own lists of what works, what doesn’t work, and what they’ll try to do differently next time. What are some of your rules? What will you and won’t you do for a deal?

 

Original article can be found here: 5 tips for how not to chase a deal

Field Report: Nimbin, Australia – Where flower power retired

Vagablogging :: Rolf Potts Vagabonding Blog

Cost/day:

Nimbin is a hard place to spend money. You will find that much of the town is free to browse, the area almost feels like entertainment in itself. We spent around $40 dollars on food and drink but this was out of choice. Nimbin is very backpacker friendly so we were able to park our van off a side street and sleep for the night cost free.

What’s the strangest thing you’ve seen lately?

This small town is strange in itself. If you think the flower power era died, you’re wrong, it retired to the hills of New South Wales. The feeling of a bohemian left wing society resonates from every glass fronted building. The town is radiant in bright colours from yellows to oranges to luminous greens. Not a dash of dull colour is wasted on the walls and door frames. You don’t need to step out of the van to be overwhelmed with happiness.

You’ll spot the odd skateboarding OAP, an abundance of dreadlocks and beards, many musicians, writers and artists alike. Amongst all of this, the very backbone of the town is the use of alternative ‘herbs’ and the strong unity it has between locals and travellers alike.

Describe a typical day:

Nimbin only needs a day or two at most if your enjoying the vibe.

We drove in from Byron Bay. This can be just over an hour and a half without stopping for a coffee. If a space can be found amongst the variety of campervans that line the streets then you can park up and walk everywhere on foot.

We stopped by the local information centre and picked up a few leaflets on what was happening in and around the town. Our first stop was the Nimbin Hemp Embassy. This is where you will find lots of Hemp and Nimbin memorabilia. Small pieces of Nimbin’s history and community are displayed here. The most interesting of which is the history of the “Mardi Grass” festival, a celebration for Marajuana. Although use of Marajuana is still illegal in Australia, Mardi Grass allows the town to come alive and voice their own opinion of the current Australian Laws. From the many photographs and videos on show it’s seems to bring the town’s heart beat to the surface with a celebration of colour and music.

Among the various displays at the Embassy you’ll find sculptures from many of the previous Mardi Grass festivals hanging from the walls and ceilings.

Nimbin has a selection of alternative cafés but we were recommended The Rainbow Cafe. A selection of salads, burgers, and other meals are on offer with a great choice of drinks. I recommend their strawberry shake. The café is in keeping with the towns laid back, colourful, hippy like vibe and the staff were very friendly. It was nice to watch the world go by and soak up the atmosphere as I tucked into a gorgeous homemade cheeseburger.

Then it’s off to the Nimbin Museum. Multiple rooms detail the history of Nimbin and it’s surrounding areas. We learned about the intriguing Aquarius Festival and just what prosperity it bough the this community. The museum has plenty to discover and is great for understanding and gaining a perspective of how this quirky town came to be.

We wondered around the various shops from Happy Herbs to a Bong shop. Each selling local products or certain contraband for alternative lifestyles.

If you want a slight reality check take a short drive out to Mt Warning. There is an 8km trek to the top, but to look out at the beautiful surrounding lands is certainly worth the walk. Take a picnic and enjoy the sunshine and a breath of fresh air.

To finish the night, it’s time for a scooner or two at the Nimbin Hotel. Locals and travellers sit alongside each other taking time to meet and greet. We were glad to have stumbled on a night of music from a local guitarist. So we settled down and enjoyed some pub grub, sat back and relaxed whilst enjoying the surroundings. Then a stumble back to sleep in the campervan!

Describe an interesting conversation:

Much of the interesting conversation can be made when conversing with local shop owners. Many of the locals seem to have settled in Nimbin rather than raised here. I was interested to understand why people settle here in Nimbin. However the most interesting ‘conversations’ you will get here are the very brief interactions in regards to local “herbs” or “special cookies”. A small glance, a quick whisper and off they would disappear as quick they had appeared. No ones pushy and they seem to respect tourists.

For anyone with a mind to visit Nimbin please don’t be deterred by it’s alternative thoughts. It is free spirited but can be enjoyed for its creative and artistic, and historical nature.

What do you like about where you are? Dislike?

I really enjoyed Nimbin, it is a hive of creativity and has a great feeling about it. The locals seem like a proud folk who enjoy their lives. It may be a simple way to live but no one seems unhappy. It almost felt like I was in a small corner of Amsterdam where everyone had found their place in the world.

Above everything else they welcome you with open arms, are happy to meet you and seem genuinely interested in who you are.

The only dislike I have is the lack of things to occupy your days. I would have loved to have spent more time just soaking up the energy. Unfortunately a thorough exploration can be done over 2 days at a steady pace.

Where next?- Gold Coast here we come

Original article can be found here: Field Report: Nimbin, Australia – Where flower power retired

Vagabonding book club: Chapter Four: Preparation

Vagablogging :: Rolf Potts Vagabonding Blog

Just how extensively you should prepare yourself before vagabonding is a topic of much debate among travelers. Many experienced vagabonders believe that less preparation is actually better in the long run. The naturalist John Muir used to say that the best way to prepare for a trip was to “throw some tea and bread into an old sack and jump over the back fence.” …

It’s important to keep in mind, however, that experienced vagabonders already possess the confidence, faith and know-how to make such spontaneous travel work….

For the first time vagabonder, of course, preparation is a downright necessity– if for no other reason than to familiarize yourself with the fundamental routines of travel, to learn what wonders and challenges await and to assuage the fears that inevitably accompany any life-changing new pursuit. The key to preparation is to strike a balance between knowing what’s out there and being optimistically ignorant.

Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term World Travel  Chapter Four- Rolf Potts

 

Rolf is right, preparation is a hot topic in vagabonding circles. There are firm proponents of both minimal and diligent preparation. I laughed at the John Muir quote, as that approach resonates with me. I’m well known for grabbing my bag and hopping continents on very little notice and at the slightest suggestion of an adventure. However, Rolf’s point is well taken: that spontaneity and the ability to hop a plane and hit the ground running, the ability to roll with the punches and come out on top, is something that develops over time. I’ve been traveling for a long time. I’ve survived enough things to know how to hedge my bets and trust that the odds are in my favor. It’s not that way when we’re starting out.

I’m engaged in preparing for a small adventure with an old friend of mine for this summer. We’re going to walk 800 km of the Camino de Santiago. Hardly an edgy adventure, but it’s one that has meaning for my friend and I. I feel quite privileged to be invited along on her first foray into vagabonding. Our differing preparation styles have been a source of mutual amusement and have caused me to remember the joy of first journeys and big leaps into the unknown. It has become our joke that she’s prepared for all things and I’m going to show up still lacing my boots. One approach isn’t better than the other, they are just different. We are both doing the necessary preparation for our level of experience with the unknown, and we’re learning from each other in the process.

What about you? How do you prepare for a journey? Are you of the “tea and bread in a bag,” school of planning, or do you, like Rolf, relish the preparation as much as the journey? How much preparation is enough. How much is not enough.

Original article can be found here: Vagabonding book club: Chapter Four: Preparation

At its best, travel is indistinguishable from just living life

Vagablogging :: Rolf Potts Vagabonding Blog

“Travel is at its most rewarding when it ceases to be about your reaching a destination and becomes indistinguishable from living your life.”

–Paul Theroux, Ghost Train to the Eastern Star (2008)

Original article can be found here: At its best, travel is indistinguishable from just living life

Post Salkantay trek, Peru

Vagablogging :: Rolf Potts Vagabonding Blog

Well, I did it! Just barely, but I managed to “conquer” around 60 kilometers (37 miles) on one of the most challenging treks I’ve ever done. Four days and three nights of difficult uphill, painful downhill, sunburns, rain, aching muscles, and freezing nights in a tent was rewarded with some of the most beautiful scenery that ends with a visit to Machu Picchu. If you like a good challenge, llamas, starry skies, snowcapped mountains, sleeping in tents, and good food, then this is a trip for you.

The trek started out with a steady incline at almost 10,000 feet above sea level, so the air was thin to start with. The terrain changed from dirt to rock and back again pretty much the entire way. Horses would occasionally run by unmanned, local families would walk past carrying supplies, and sometimes a different tour group would pass us (or at least me). There were birds, flowers, wild animals, and sunshine all along the trail. The people in our group (11 of us) were from Denmark, France, America, and Ireland, and they were all lovely.

In my previous post I mentioned that I felt a bit unprepared, and I have to admit that I questioned my ability to get through the whole trek on day one, when I got hit with altitude sickness. I was worried that it would be an issue for me, and almost wonder if I talked myself into experiencing it subconsciously. After walking uphill for a few hours in the direct sunlight, I suddenly felt like I couldn’t take in enough air, felt dizzy and panicky, and needed to sit down. Fortunately, our guide Primo had his “magic potion” with him, which is some mix of herbs that are supposed to help open up your lungs to take in a bit more oxygen. After resting for a few minutes and breathing in the mixture, I was able to get going again, slowly at first, but I made it through the rest of the ascent with no issues. Sadly, since I had a little trouble the first day, I decided to take a horse for two hours at the beginning of the second day, which is exactly what I had hoped wouldn’t happen. I’m not a big fan of riding animals because I find it terrifying. Especially up windy mountains, through rivers, and down rocky terrain. However, I managed to survive, and on day two we made it to the highest point, which was 15,000 feet above sea level. I give approximate numbers for things like distance and altitude because even the guides seemed unsure at times of the exact numbers.

The company we chose was Cuscoperuviajes and our guide was great. He put up with our constant slowness due to picture-taking, outfit rearranging, and water breaks. The tour included horses to carry up to 6 kilos per person and cooks that ran ahead of the group to prepare the meals and set up camp. It was almost freezing at night, and we were so tired from hiking at least 12 miles every day that I could barely make it through dinner without passing out. However, being up so high on a clear night allowed us a view of the brightest star-filled sky I’ve probably ever seen.

In the end, I felt that I was prepared enough as far as gear went. We packed for pretty much every temperature, had great shoes and socks, plenty of first aid stuff, bug spray and sunscreen, snacks, raingear, and camera equipment. I definitely recommend plenty of pairs of socks and warm layers for sleeping. Also, you are provided with a thin sleeping mat but no pillow, so I was glad I remembered my travel pillow. I packed extra snacks but was surprised at my lack of hunger while trekking. I wasn’t in my absolute best physical shape, but it only slowed me down, I still finished.

At the end of the third day, we were taken to the hot springs, which were beautiful and very much needed. The rest of the group stayed on for a 4th day that allowed for activities like ziplining, but me and my two friends took a bus and train to a hostel in Aguas Calientes. We were determined to go out for drinks to celebrate surviving the three tough days, but of course wound up being tired and went to bed early to rest before our big day at Machu Picchu. We were pleased that it wasn’t as crowded there as we had feared, and we were free to roam around one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been, frolicking with the llama population.

I definitely recommend this trek, and visiting Peru in general. Cusco and Aguas Calientes were both really neat cities that you have pass through to get to Machu Picchu. Overall we spent two weeks, and we didn’t see nearly enough of Peru. If anyone has any questions about the trek or getting around I’d be happy to help, you can reach me here or on my website. Thanks for reading, more photos below!

 

 

 

 

 

Original article can be found here: Post Salkantay trek, Peru

Up Cambodia without a phrase book

Vagablogging :: Rolf Potts Vagabonding Blog

Image credit

I am 15 minutes into my hike down the muddy little stream when a tree carving captures my attention. Sticky with sap and arcing brown across the bark, it seems to have been made recently.

I drop to my haunches and run my fingers over the design. After three days of living on the Indochinese outback without electricity or running water, I feel like my senses have been sharpened to the details of the landscape. I take a step back for perspective, and my mind suddenly goes blank.

The carving is a crude depiction of a skull and crossbones.

Were I anyplace else in the world, I might be able to write off the skull and crossbones as a morbid adolescent prank. Unfortunately, since I am in northwestern Cambodia, the ghoulish symbol can mean only one thing: land mines. Suddenly convinced that everything in my immediate vicinity is about to erupt into a fury of fire and shrapnel, I freeze.

My brain slowly starts to track again, but I can’t pinpoint a plan of action. If this were a tornado, I’d prone myself in a low-lying area. Were this an earthquake, I’d run to an open space away from trees and buildings. Were this a hurricane, I’d pack up my worldly possessions and drive to South Dakota. But since I am in a manmade disaster zone, all I can think to do is nothing.

My thoughts drift to a random quote from a United Nations official a few years back, who was expressing his frustration in trying to clear the Cambodian countryside of hundreds of thousands of unmarked and unmapped mines. “Cambodia’s mines will be cleared,” he’d quipped fatalistically, “by people walking on them.”

As gingerly as possible, I lower myself to the ground, resolved to sit here until I can formulate a course of action that won’t result in blowing myself up.

For the past decade, northwestern Cambodia has been home primarily to subsistence farmers, U.N. de-mining experts and holdout factions of the genocidal Khmer Rouge army. Except for adventure travelers headed overland from the Thai border to the monuments of Angkor Wat, nobody ever visits this part of the country.

If someone were to walk up right now and ask me why I’m here, who I’m staying with and how I got to this corner of the Cambodian boondocks, I could tell them truthfully that I do not exactly know.

Technically, I was invited to come here by Boon, a winsome Cambodian Keanu Reeves look-alike who shared a train seat with me from Bangkok to the border three days ago. Our third seatmate, a Thai guy who called himself Jay, knew enough English for the three of us to exchange a few pleasantries along the way. Our conversation never amounted to much, but as we got off the train at the Thai border town of Aranyaprathet, Boon asked through Jay if I was interested in staying with him and his family once we got to Cambodia. Eager to explore a part of Cambodia that was a notorious Khmer Rouge stronghold only six months ago, I accepted.

Jay parted ways with us at the train station, and that was the last time I had any real clue as to what was going on.

Perhaps if I hadn’t forgotten my Southeast Asian phrasebook in Bangkok, I would have a better idea of what was happening. Unfortunately, due to a moment of hurried absent-mindedness shortly before my departure to Aranyaprathet, I left my phrasebook languishing on top of a toilet-paper dispenser in the Bangkok train station. Thus, my communication with Boon has been limited to a few words of Lao (which has many phrases in common with Thai, Boon’s second language) that I still remember from my recent journey down the Mekong.

My Lonely Planet Southeast Asia guide also provides a handful of Khmer words; unfortunately, phrases like “I want a room with a bathtub” and “I’m allergic to penicillin” only go so far when your hosts live in a one-room house without running water.

As a result, trying to understand the events of the last three days has been like trying to appreciate a Bengali sitcom: I can figure out the basics of what’s going on, but most everything else is lost in a haze of unfamiliar context and language. In a way, this is kind of nice, since I have no social expectations here. Whereas in an American home I would feel obligated to maintain a certain level of conversation and decorum, here I can wander off and flop into a hammock at any given moment, and my hosts will just laugh and go back to whatever it was they were doing. At times I feel more like a shipwrecked sailor than a personal guest.

The majority of my stay here in Cambodia has been at Boon’s mother’s house, in a country village called Opasat. Boon’s wife and baby daughter also live here, as well as a half-dozen other people of varying age, whose relation to Boon I have not yet figured out.

My first morning in Opasat, Boon took me around and introduced me to almost everyone in his neighborhood. I don’t remember a single name or nuance from the experience — but everyone remembers me because I kept banging my head on the bottom of people’s houses, which stand on stilts about six feet off the ground. Now I can’t walk from Boon’s house to the town center without someone seizing me by the arm and dragging me over to show some new relative how I’m tall enough to brain myself on their bungalow.

After five minutes of paranoid inaction in front of the skull and crossbones tree, I hear the sounds of children’s voices coming my way. I look up to see a half-dozen little sun-browned village kids strung out along the stream bank. Suddenly concerned for their safety, I leap to my feet and try to wave them off.

Unfortunately, my gesticulations only make the kids break into a dead sprint in my direction. I realize that the kids think I am playing a game I invented yesterday, called “Karate Man.”

The rules behind Karate Man are simple: I stand in one spot looking scary, and as many kids as possible run up and try to tackle me. If the kids can’t budge me after a few seconds, I begin to peel them off my legs and toss them aside, bellowing (in my best cartoon villain voice) “I am Karate Man! Nobody can stop Karate Man!” Caught up in the exaggerated silliness of the game, the kids tumble and backpedal their way 20 or so feet across the dirt when I throw them off. Then they come back for more. It’s a fun way to pass the time, and it’s much less awkward than trying to talk to the adults.

At this moment, however, I’m in no mood to be surrounded by a field of exploding Cambodian children. “No!” I yell desperately. “No Karate Man!”

“Kanati-maan!” the kids shriek back, never breaking stride.

As the kids charge me, I clutch them to me one by one, and we sink to the ground in a heap. Convinced that they have just vanquished Karate Man, the children break into a cheer.

I stand them up, dust them off, then make them march me back the way they came. Thinking this is part of the game, the kids take the task very seriously. We walk in single file, the kids doing their best to mimic my sober demeanor. Nobody blows up. By the time the buildings of the village are in view, I begin to relax again.

Once I arrive back at Boon’s house, one of the kids is immediately dispatched for a sarong. This, I have learned, is the signal that it’s time for me to take a bath. I’ve already bathed once today, but my hosts seem to think it’s time for me to bathe again. This could have something to do with the fact that I’m sweaty and dusty from the hike, but I suspect that my hosts just want an excuse to watch me take my clothes off.

Since there is no running water at Boon’s house, all the bathing and washing is done by a small pond out back. The first time I was hustled out to take a bath, I didn’t realize that it would be such a social undertaking. By the time I’d stripped down to my shorts, a crowd of about ten people had gathered to watch me. Since I’d never paid much attention to how country folks bathe in this part of the world, I wasn’t quite sure what to do next. I figured it would be a bad idea to strip completely naked, so I waded into the pond in my shorts. A gleeful roar went up from the peanut gallery, and a couple of kids ran down to pull me out of the murky water.

In the time since then, I have learned that I am supposed to wrap a sarong around my waist for modesty, and bring buckets of water up from the pond to bathe. Since I have very white skin, my Cambodian friends watch this ritual with great curiosity. My most enthusiastic fan is a wrinkled old neighbor woman who is given to poking and prodding me with a sense of primatological fascination that would rival Jane Goodall. When Boon took me over to visit her house two mornings ago, she sat me down on her porch, yanked off my sandals, and pulled on my toes and stroked my legs for about five minutes. At first I thought she was some sort of massage therapist, until she showed up at my bath this morning and started pulling at the hair on my nipples.

This afternoon, Old Lady Goodall manages to outdo herself. As I am toweling off under a tree, she strides up and starts to run her fingers over my chest and shoulders, like I’m some sort of sacred statue from Angkor Wat. If this woman were 40 years younger and had a few more teeth, it might be a rather erotic experience; instead, it’s just kind of strange. Without warning, Madame Goodall leans in and licks the soft white flesh above my hipbone. Comically, furrowing her brow, she turns and makes a wisecrack to Boon’s mother, who erupts into laughter.

I can only assume this means I’m not quite as tasty as she’d expected.

By nightfall, I know something is amiss. Usually, my hosts have prepared and served dinner by early evening, and we have cleaned up and are playing with the baby (the primary form of nighttime entertainment, since there are no electric lights) by dark. But this evening there is no mention of dinner, and a group of a dozen young men from the neighborhood have gathered at Boon’s place. They gesture at me and laugh, talking in loud voices. I laugh along with them, but as usual I have no idea what’s going on. For all I know they’re discussing different ways to marinate my liver.

About an hour after sundown, Boon indicates that it’s time to go. I get up to leave, but I can’t find my sandals. After a bit of sign language, a search party is formed. Since my size-13 sandals are about twice as big as any other footwear in the village, it doesn’t take long to track them down. One of the neighbors, a white-haired old man who Boon introduces as Mr. Cham, has been flopping around in my Tevas. Mr. Cham looks to be about 60, and he’s wearing a black Bon Jovi T-shirt. Mr. Cham’s eyes are set at a strange angle, and at first glance it looks like he’s either pleading for his life, or plotting the destruction of the world. When Boon tells him that he has to give me my sandals back, Mr. Cham looks as if he might burst into tears.

Finally ready, I hike to the village wat with Boon and the other young men. The wat is filled with revelers, and has all the trappings of an American country fair. Dunk tanks and dart-tosses are set up all along the perimeter, and concession tables selling cola, beer, noodle soup and fresh fruit dot the courtyard. A fenced-in dancing ring has been constructed around the tallest tree in the wat, and a sound system blasts traditional and disco dance tunes.

Boon nods at me and sweeps his hand at the courtyard. “Chaul Chnam,” he says. “Khmer Songkhran.”

Songkhran is the Thai New Year celebration, so I gather that Chaul Chnam marks the Khmer New Year. As with Thai kids at Songkhran, Cambodian children run roughshod over the Chaul Chnam celebration, throwing buckets of water and pasting each others’ faces with white chalk powder.

I suspect that Boon’s young male friends have brought me to Chaul Chnam so they can use me to meet girls, but I am surrounded by little kids before we have a chance to do any tomcatting. Apparently, my reputation as Karate Man has spread, and now I can’t walk anywhere without a gaggle of Cambodian kids trying to tackle me. Not up for a night of getting mobbed like a rock star (or, more accurately, a cast member of “Sesame Street Live”), I manage to neutralize the children by shaking hands with them in the manner of a charismatic politician. Since I can only shake hands with one kid at a time, this slows things down a bit.

Boon ultimately rescues me by taking me to a folding table, where he introduces me to a fierce-looking man called Mr. Song. Mr. Song has opted not to wear a shirt to the Chaul Chnam festivities; his chest is laced with indigo tattoos and his arms are roped with taut muscles. He looks to be in his 40s, which inevitably means that he has seen some guerrilla combat over the years. Given our location, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he served his time in Khmer Rouge ranks. When I buy the first round of Tiger lager, Mr. Song is my buddy for the rest of the evening.

Although I am tempted to jump into the dance ring and take a shot at doing the graceful Khmer aspara, I end up holding court at the table for the next three hours. When Boon leaves to dance with his wife, Mr. Song becomes master of ceremonies, introducing me to each person that walks by the table. Everyone I meet tries to make a sincere personal impression, but it’s impossible to know what anyone is trying to communicate. One man pulls out a faded color photograph of a middle-aged Cambodian couple decked out in 1980s American casual-wear. The back of the photo reads: “Apple Valley, California.” Another man spends 20 minutes trying to teach me how to count to 10 in Khmer. Each time I attempt to show off my new linguistic skills, I can’t get past five before everyone is doubled-over laughing at my pronunciation.

It comes as a kind of relief when the generator suddenly breaks down, cutting off the music in mid-beat and leaving the wat dark.

On the way back to the neighborhood, Boon pantomimes that Mr. Song wants me to sleep with his family. Once we arrive at his house, Mr. Song lights some oil lamps, drags out an automobile battery and hooks it up to a Sony boom box. After a few minutes of tuning, we listen to a faint Muzak rendering of “El Condor Pasa” on a Thai radio station. This quickly bores Mr. Song, and he walks over to the corner and puts the radio away.

He returns carrying a pair of AK-47 assault rifles and four banana clips of ammunition. Motioning me over, he sits on the floor and begins to show me how the guns work. Three of the clips, he indicates, have a 30-round capacity, and the fourth holds 40 bullets. In what I assume is a gesture of hospitality, Mr. Song jams the 40-round clip into one of the rifles and hands it to me. I get a quick lesson on how to prime the first round, and how to switch the rifle to full automatic fire.

Mr. Song doesn’t appear to realize that this is a doomed enterprise. Unless we are attacked tonight by Martians, or intruders who wear crisp white T-shirts that read SHOOT ME, I won’t have the slightest idea how to distinguish a bandit from a neighbor. For good measure — and not wanting to sully his macho mood — I hand Mr. Song my camera, and indicate that I want him to take a picture of me with the AK-47. From the way he holds my camera, I can only conclude that this is the first photo he’s ever taken.

When I finally fall asleep, I dream that I am renting videos from a convenience store in outer space.

- – – – – – – – – – – -

Not wanting to overstay my welcome, and largely exhausted by my local-celebrity status, I tell Boon of my intention to leave Opasat the following morning. Boon indicates that he understands, and sends for a motorcycle taxi to take me to the overland-truck depot in the city of Sisophon.

To show my appreciation for all the hospitality, I give Boon’s mother a $20 bill — figuring that she will know how to split it up among deserving parties. As soon as the money leaves my hand, I see Mr. Cham run off toward his house. When he returns, he is carrying a travel bag, and he’s traded his Bon Jovi shirt for a purple polo top and a brown porkpie hat. Boon confers with him for a moment, then apologetically indicates that Mr. Cham wants me to take him from Sisophon to Angkor Wat. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I shrug my consent.

When the motorcycle taxi arrives, I make my rounds and say my goodbyes. I save Boon for last. “Thanks, Boon,” I say in English. “I wish I could tell you how much I appreciate all this.” He can’t understand me, of course, but he returns my pleasantry by bringing his hands together in a traditional Khmer bow. I give him a hug, knowing that I will probably never know why he invited me to come and see his family, or even what he does for a living.

I get onto the motorcycle between the driver and the eccentric Mr. Cham, and we take off in a flourish of dust. Opasat disappears behind me in a matter of minutes, and my thoughts move on to the sundry details of finding an overland truck and fulfilling my tourist agenda at Angkor Wat.

I am still not exactly sure what has just happened to me, but I know that I rather enjoyed it.

This will not stop me, however, from buying a new phrasebook the moment I see one for sale.

 

Originally published June 1, 1999 by Salon.com

Original article can be found here: Up Cambodia without a phrase book

Vagabonding Case Study: Luke Armstrong

Vagablogging :: Rolf Potts Vagabonding Blog

 

Luke Armstrong

TravelWriteSing.com

Age: 28

Hometown: Kalispel, Montana

Quote: “Instead of living in a specific place in the world, you simply live in the world. Everywhere is your home and everyone is your neighbor.”



How did you find out about Vagabonding, and how did you find it useful before and during the trip?

In 2011 I did a book review of “Marco Polo Didn’t Go There” and interviewed Rolf

Potts (http://www.theexpeditioner.com/2011/04/11/qa-rolf-potts-went-there/)

During my research for the piece, I found out about Vagabonding. I found it

informative not of a specific trip, but a certain lifestyle. The word vagabond, is

often used negative. For many people it sits on the same linguistic shelf as

“hobo” or “homeless.” Vagabonding instilled in me the realization that extended

overseas travel was not just possible as a lifestyle, but that if I was honest with

myself, this was a lifestyle that I could adopt. At the time I had traveled a bit, and

was living abroad. T this helped me in a decision I made in 2012 to become a

full-time location independent professional, AKA, a vagabond.

How long were you on the road?

While I have my “bases” in New York,

Guatemala and Kenya, I have been on the road for the last two years.

Where did you go?

Cuba, Canada, Kenya, Uganda, Morocco, All across the

USA, Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Panama, Costa Rica,

Honduras Chile, Peru, Colombia, Argentina, France, England, Czech, The

Netherlands, Iceland, Spain,

What was your job or source of travel funding for this journey?

Over these last two years, it has been playing music and writing–travel writing, publishing

books of poetry, publishing a travel anthology, and doing freelance marketing. I

also spent 5 months teaching at an NGO afterschool program in the Bronx, NYC.

Did you work or volunteer on the road?

I spent my last semester abroad in

Chile in 2007. After that I ditched my flight home and started hitchhiking Chile in

to Alaska. I volunteered in several NGOs along the way. In one of these

organization in Guatemala, Nuestros Ahijados, I was offered a director position

when the program director abruptly quit. I accepted and stayed for four years

managing 100s of employees and volunteers, and supporting a thousand

dependents. The highlight of this work came when I opened a malnourished

infant center in 2008, which was later featured on ABC 20/20 (http://

abcnews.go.com/2020/video/tortillas-coffee-baby-food-12428162)

Of all the places you visited, which was your favorite? Cuba

Was there a place that was your least favorite, or most disappointing, or most

challenging?

Though this seems contradictory, this was also Cuba. I went to

Cuba for closure. My grandmother was a poet like myself, and a very important

person in my life. She opened the world of literature to me when on my 13th

birthday she gave me a copy of Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. This

caused me to have both an interest in Hemingway and Cuba, just as Hemingway

had had an interest and love for Cuba.

In December I had a plane ticket to visit my grandmother. She was not doing

well. She past away a few days before my plane departed. I showed up in time

for her funeral. Her funeral gave me no closure. So I loaded up a bag of her

poetry books, and departed for Cuba. She was a world traveler herself and had

already wanted to go. In Havana I did the opposite of shoplifting: I smuggled my

grandmother’s poetry books onto their shelves. In each I wrote, “To Cuba with

love, from Patricia Mees Armstrong, via her grandson.”

Which travel gear proved to be most useful? A ScotteVest

Least useful? Nothing comes to mind.

What are the rewards of the vagabonding lifestyle?

Instead of living in a specific place in the world, you simply live in the world. Everywhere is your home

and everyone is your neighbor.

What are the challenges and sacrifices of the vagabonding lifestyle?

There are of course, financial concerns, since writing and music are struggles to earn a

living from at this stage in my career.

When you are always arriving somewhere new, you are also always leaving a

place. You are constantly saying goodbye to people and places that you love.

How did your personal definition of “vagabonding” develop over the

course of the trip?

Being able to call myself a vagabond and feel that it had a

positive, not a negative connotation.

Any advice or tips for someone hoping to embark on a similar adventure?

If you are wondering if you should do it, you have already answered that question:

you should. If you are wondering how you will pay for it, trust that openess mixed

with the tenacity of not giving up will lead you to find your balance.

When and where do you think you’ll take your next long-term adventure?

I went to Guatemala on March, 17th. This is one of my bases, so I will be

staying for two months. Then I will be traveling to every country in Central

America again. This fall I will be traveling to Asia.

Website: TravelWriteSing.com

Are you a Vagabonding reader planning, in the middle of, or returning from a journey? Would you like your travel blog or website to be featured on Vagabonding Case Studies? If so, drop us a line at casestudies@vagabonding.net and tell us a little about yourself.

Original article can be found here: Vagabonding Case Study: Luke Armstrong