How to Enjoy Travel Without Social Media

DID YOU KNOW that if a tree falls in the woods and you don’t post the video to your Instagram story, it still actually happened? I’m aware of the irony of writing about a topic like this on a popular travel website, where, if all goes well, it will be retweeted, shared on Facebook, and maybe even receive a video response on YouTube (please?), but there are ways to enjoy traveling without social media.

Low-tech travel is still an option

Some travelers get the idea that getting offline also means completely cutting themselves off from technology, when in fact a simple reduction will do. Leaving your phone at home and using a calling card to stay in touch may be annoying, but isn’t it worth removing the temptation of snapping a selfie? Just because we no longer live in a world where Polaroid cameras are ubiquitous doesn’t mean they aren’t out there to capture memories. If you use your blog primarily as an outlet for your creativity and not as a form of income, you can try jotting your experiences down on paper. Travel like it’s 1999.

Time goes further without technology

You may not be able to look back on what happened one day ten years ago in Thailand without some digital photographic evidence, but if you spent that time bathing elephants and getting drunk with expats you’re going to remember the experience better without wasting time documenting everything as it’s happening. My weekends in Japan usually fly by when I’m traveling solo and stop to write on my Macbook or scroll through IG on my phone, but when two Couchsurfers came to visit and we spent the whole day talking and exploring, I couldn’t help but appreciate how much longer the days seemed to last. Being mindful during your travels means taking the minute between when your food is served not to find the perfect angle for a picture, but instead reflect on how fortunate you are to have this nourishment in this foreign country with good friends.

Live your life without online feedback

Social media has fundamentally changed how we communicate in many ways, but probably none more than allowing snapshots of our lives to receive immediate feedback from the whole world. We’ve probably all taken a picture of a scene like a sunset over the ocean with the intention of wanting to know want other people think about it, without taking the time to wonder whether we actually like it in the first place.

Your travel experiences have value even if no else sees your picture and gives it a like. Seeing someone’s expression in person and understanding their reaction to your temple stay and spiritual awakening (even if it’s an eye roll) are going to mean more to you than someone writing a cliché comment with an emoji.

Think about where you travel, and why

I had a falling out with a friend last year after – having discussed the issue of the treatment of elephants at length – she chose to ride on one in Asia in a stereotypical tourist fashion. When I quite angrily asked what the hell she was thinking, knowing full well she was aware of how these animals were tortured, she casually replied “Yeah, well, I wanted a selfie with one.”

Think about your motivation in traveling to a place like Macchu Picchu or posing with a tiger… is it something you genuinely want to do, or just something you think would look pretty sweet on Instagram? Take away that incentive, and would you still go there, or do that?

Traveling without social media forces you to focus on why you travel, knowing that people may still hear about the story ex post facto, but you completely control the narrative. Why work yourself to death squeezing in another attraction before sunset to make sure it’s posted during prime viewing time if no one is going to see it? Avoiding social media generally gives you quality over quantity.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MATADOR NETWORK.

TURNER WRIGHT

Turner Wright is a marathon runner first, an adventurer second, and a writer through it all. Apparently, he has a thing for island nations, having lived in Japan, and soon to be headed for New Zealand. Check out his adventures at Once a Traveler.

The Restaurant Where Grandmas Cook to Share Their Cultures

A New York City restaurant does more than serve home cooking from around the world. It prepares each dish with the love that only a grandmother can provide.

After losing his mother and sister within the same year, Jody Scaravella was struggling to figure out life without the matriarchs of his family. His grandmother had died seven years before, and he was desperate for an outlet to transform his pain into healing.

Scaravella was raised in an Italian American household in Brooklyn, where his mother, Maria, and his grandmother, Dominica, made sure to sprinkle a dash of love into everything they cooked. In the same kitchen where they prepared traditional meals, Maria and Dominica also passed down their Italian heritage.

Scaravella turned back to his upbringing for solace, and nearly 11 years ago opened restaurant Enoteca Maria in the heart of St. George, Staten Island’s historic district. His intention was not just to serve up hearty Italian meals passed down from previous generations, but to bring together the Italian grandmothers of New York to cook them. Each dish is prepared with the love that only a grandmother can give.

“It was all grief-driven, really. I guess I was just trying to recreate that comfort,” Scaravella says.

Since then, Italian grandmothers with little to no professional training have come into Enoteca Maria to cook their own menus on a rotating schedule. The next logical step, Scaravella says, was to expand the restaurant’s concept and invite grandmothers from different cultures.

“So many of the people who came and celebrated our Italian nonnas were not themselves Italian,” he says. “I wanted this to be inclusive.”

Since expanding the concept in 2015, Enoteca Maria has attracted grandmothers from Brazil, Japan, Argentina, Syria, and more.

“These women really represent their culture. They are the vessels that carry this culture forward,” Scaravella says.

The restaurant is divided into two kitchens: The downstairs kitchen is reserved for Italian grandmothers, while upstairs is for grandmothers with other heritage.

“On the first day that the new nonna cooks, we have one of the other nonnas that’s already cooked come in as an advocate to walk her through,” the process, Scaravella explains. “The advocate acts as the go-between and shows her how this all happens.”

Despite language barriers, the grandmothers always manage to create a truly unique and special experience.

“It’s obvious where all the knowledge is. Food is definitely part of it, but it’s more about culture being brought forward.”

“I’ve seen situations where they didn’t understand any words but they had a great time and connected,” he says. “Everyone is just cooking together in the kitchen and sharing culture.”

Like Scaravella, many of the grandmothers who come into Enoteca Maria share a similar desire to connect and nurture their own loss, whether it is a loved one or leaving behind their homeland.

After losing her husband, Greek grandmother Ploumitsa Zimnis was introduced to the restaurant by her daughter, Maria, in an effort to help her through her grief.

“I was on the internet one day and saw an ad looking for grandmothers from different cultures. I saw that Jody was using this as a way to connect to his culture and the love that he felt when he was young,” says Maria Zimnis.

With assistance from her daughter, Ploumitsa has made it a tradition to come in at least once a month and cook for guests.

“I make moussaka first day. Sometimes calamari salad. Octopus with wine and onions. Baklava for dessert,” Ploumitsa says.

Ploumitsa and her daughter may have stumbled upon Enoteca Maria online, but it seems more like fate.

“On our first day we coincidentally noticed that the restaurant was located in the town of St. George. My mother and father were both born in St. George Sikousis village on the island of Chios in Greece,” Maria says. “So we thought it was definitely a sign from above, from my father. We were meant to cross this path.”

The memories of home-cooked meals made by women who have passed down their heritage generation to generation evoke a nostalgic feeling that awakens a desire to connect to our roots, Scaravella says.

“It’s that moment when the grandparent is passing down this knowledge about how to prepare a traditional dish, and she’s passing it forward to the next generation. You’re really watching history,” Scaravella says.

In 2015, publishing company Simon and Schuster partnered with Enoteca Maria to launch Nonna’s House: Cooking and Reminiscing with the Italian Grandmothers of Enoteca Maria, a collection of recipes and stories. Scaravella is now working on a follow-up, Nonnas of the World, which will feature an extensive collection of recipes from grandmothers around the world.

“It’s obvious where all the knowledge is. Food is definitely part of it, but it’s more about culture being brought forward,” Scaravella says. “It’s really all that we are, and it’s so basic. It’s like breathing.”

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON YES! MAGAZINE.

SHAIMA SHAMDEEN

Shaima is a solutions reporting intern for YES! She is passionate about cross-cultural and interfaith dialogue. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram.

MONGOLIA: In Search of Warriors

LIKE ALL WORTHY QUESTS, MY FASCINATION WITH MONGOLIA BEGINS WITH A STORY. A STORY THAT TURNS ITSELF LIKE POLISHED STONE WITHIN MY FINGERS.

A hunter, old rifle by his side, returns with a few marmots, highly prized delicacies throughout the Mongolian countryside. / A simple road, common in Mongolia, calls to mind this native proverb, “If you endeavour, the fate will favour you.”

This is a tale I have replayed so often since childhood, that when I close my eyes, the characters appear, fully defined, as if I could touch them. At the center is my grandfather, Louis, a young French soldier fighting in World War II. I see him then in black and white, even though when he sat me on his knee, decades later, to tell his story, he was colorful in every way imaginable. It was as if my grandfather had grown up through a period of time when everything existed only in shades of black and grey, as if the entire world with its violence and scarcity had the color sucked right out of it.

Aerial view of Khvod (Ховд), blanketed by snow, in western Mongolia. / Immense landscapes on a 3,200 km drive through eastern Mongolia.

But then he would tell the part about the Mongol army. About how he was captured and sent to a German prison camp with British, American, and French soldiers. How the camp was eventually liberated, late in 1944, by a small and mighty troop fighting alongside the Allies against the Germans. They were the Mongolian People’s Army, established as a secondary army under Soviet command. As a young child, to hear my grandfather tell it, these liberators loomed large in vibrant, audacious color, a brilliant contrast to the stark landscape that surrounded them all.

Herders from Ulaangom (Улаангом), the “Red Valley”. / Drinking Mongol tea, made with mare’s milk and salt, at Üüreg Lake (Үүрэг нуур).

I was seven or eight years old when my grandfather would tell me this story, and I remember the grin on his face and the tears in his eyes as he told his tale: “The Mongol army charged the prison and the Germans were scared to death at the sight of them. Never before had anyone seen a people like this. They were fierce and the Germans ran away. They ran for their lives.” He told me that afterwards the freed soldiers and the Mongols kept hugging one other and celebrated long into the night.

This is how my grandfather’s life was saved.

As a young boy this account had a massive impact on me. That mysterious Mongol Army of men who saved my grandfather’s life; they saved my life.

A young rider bathes with his horse at Buir Lake (Буйр Нуур). Mongolians call wild horses “takhi,” which means “spirit,” and horses are profoundly important to them. They believe that one rides to the afterlife on a horse.

Mongolia.

THE NAME HAS ALWAYS LINGERED IN MY MIND AS A COUNTRY WITH A MYTHICAL CONNOTATION.

Illuminated bands of rain sweep towards a group of “ger” or yurts, huddled on the shores of Üüreg Lake (Үүрэг нуур) in western Mongolia.

When I got older, I worked as a photo assistant to a high-end fashion photographer in New York, learning the craft and saving a bit of money. For three years I was absorbed in that world of fashion, which was very glamorous and comfortable, but I was most attracted by the travel and began to long for more. At some point, I determined to go to Mongolia and see the place with my own eyes. In the summer of 2001, I took a month and set off.

While I brought my cameras on that first trip, a bit of equipment and film, I was mostly thrilled to put the experience of traveling first. This journey was more a pilgrimage. I have since returned almost annually for fifteen years, driven by a desire to capture the majesty and serene nature of the Mongolian landscape and inhabitants through my photography. At first I sought to discover the country of my imagination, but with every trip, my relationship with the land and its people deepened and became my own.

Timeless reflection. Surrounded by deserted, low mountains, Tolbo Lake (Толбо Нуур) in western Mongolia. / Stopping for tea, our hosts were caring for their grandchildren. Their nomadic home was quite rustic with carpets for side panels, a long-gone style rarely seen today.

“Even when quite a child I felt two conflicting sensations in my heart: the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.” — Baudelaire, Intimate Journals

On that first trip to Mongolia in 2001, I took a photograph of a mother and her infant son at their home on the shores of Üüreg lake, in the western part of the country. I traveled with an easy to pack, black piece of fabric. The light in this country is so beautiful and the fabric was capable of diffusing it to great effect, especially when shooting portraits of people.

Five years later, in 2006, I returned to the region where this family had once resided and sought them out. I often make small prints for the people I photograph and, if lucky enough to see them again, I like to give them as gifts. People in Mongolia, especially in the countryside, live great distances from each other and do not typically have access to this type of technology. I asked my guide to help me find this particular family as most in this area tend to be nomadic and the surroundings are constantly changing. We drove around the area asking people if they knew where we might locate them. Eventually, someone recognized the family and showed us the way.

A Mongolian “ger” (гэр) or yurt, covered with skins and felt, the traditional home of nomads living on the expansive steppes of central Asia.

We arrived, as you do in this part of the world, completely unannounced. The family remembered me, gave us a warm greeting and served us a tea. After we had eaten, I pulled out the photograph and handed it to the couple.

The mother picked up the picture, looked at it and there grew a void, her face filled with great sadness as she left the room. Her husband picked up the photograph and stood, his eyes swelling with tears. Their baby, he explained, had died of a virus three weeks after our first visit. They had never seen any picture of him. Here was this image allowing a mother and father to reconnect to their lost son. For a moment, it was like a resurrection—that powerful. My guide and I drove the four hours back in complete silence, as if we were under the spell of what had just happened. It was one of the most profound moments I have ever felt, creating that deepest human connection.

Mother and infant son, in their home on the shores of Üüreg Lake (Үүрэг нуур) in western Mongolia.

“There is not a particle of life, which does not bear poetry within it.” — Gustave Flaubert

While in the countryside, especially, you can feel the influence of Buddhism. In every ger, the Mongolian term for their traditional tents, you will find a small altar with a Buddhist icon. In each village there is a monastery. It is a subtle presence, one felt primarily in how people relate to life. Death is a passage, a journey. It happens, it is anticipated as part of the life cycle. Does death trigger sadness? Yes, but life goes on. The religious culture is something that seems to create an overall sense of morality. In my experience, Mongols are extremely fair people. You ask their point of view and they tell you precisely what they think.

Horse riders at rest in Horkon, central Mongolia. / Baasan Lama, a monk at Bulgan Temple, a Buddhist retreat in the Gobi Desert.

In Mongolia, nothing happens the way you want or expect.

For me, coming from a western culture where everything is linear, this was an awakening. If you are traveling, you only know when you are leaving, never when you will arrive. I found that amazing. In a country as immense as this, the elements are so powerful there is no control. There may be a snow or sand storm. Things that can physically prevent you from moving forward on your journey. You cannot continue… until you can.

Two schoolboys, wearing fur-lined boots, walk home through the snow near the village of Altai (Алтай) in the far west of Mongolia.

I have learned that most of the time when things are not going as planned, that is often when the situation is the most visually exciting. We have to go a different direction than where we came from and stay one more night all because of a flat tire. But, that is when something special happens. We end up saying afterwards, “Wow. Mind blown.”

Take, for example, the following series of images, which illustrate exactly the type of unexpected scenarios that gift themselves to you while traveling through Mongolia. We had a plan to fly direct from the capital, Ulaanbaatar, to Tsaatan lands, to visit reindeer herders on the Russian border, but for some reason our flight got canceled. This happens a lot. We had to stay one more night in the city, get on a different flight to somewhere further away, then rent a car and drive back across this vast lake, Khövsgöl, one of the biggest lakes in Mongolia. This arduous journey, all to reach the town we were originally attempting to fly to directly. I was fuming. I had just three weeks for this trip and now I was losing two entire days.

The Altai Mountains, seen on a flight from Ulaanbaatar to Ölgii. / A bridge near the village of Altai (Алтай), a few miles from China’s border.

During the winter months, this lake is completely frozen, often an ice layer of up to six feet, and instead of taking the dirt road, often filled with potholes and hard to navigate, trucks and cars travel directly across the iced over lake. There is a risk, of course. As the drive went on, the truck we were following suddenly began to collapse into the ice, without any warning.

A warmer wind from the south had been blowing in recent days, making the upper layer of ice more fragile. Everyone in our vehicle shouted out in shock “Arrgh!” and we stopped as far away as possible, as the ice in the epicenter was quite fragile. While we contemplated the situation, the owner of the truck, who had at first abandoned it, along with the other passengers, walked back to the vehicle to retrieve his belongings. While he was still in the truck, we heard a massive roar. A roar so deafening we were surrounded by the thunderous sound echoing from the ice.

We knew something was about to happen. Everyone ran from the truck, as it sunk even deeper, seemingly fixed into the ice. Immovable.

What happened next?

Well, the Mongols are impressively strong willed and determined. They called for help and a few hours later a couple of other trucks arrived.

Together, the group waited for night to fall, so that the ice was again solid and reliable ground, and then they literally pulled it out of the ice. So badass.

That truck was filled with wood, likely bound for a construction site. There was too much potentially lost revenue trapped in that one ice circle. Fortunately, no one was hurt that day, but locals have told me stories of jeeps and trucks, loaded with occupants, disappearing entirely in the frozen lake after the ice had cracked, never to be heard of again. Only later did we realize how close we were to possibly meeting the same fate.

This lake was full of unusual surprises. Earlier the same day, we had come across two young men lying on the ice, in the middle of nowhere. We stopped the car and got out, but they did not move. They just stared. They were completely drunk, wasted. It was still morning! They were just lying there waiting for something.

I love the perspective, the color, and texture of the ice in this image. Knowing the strange backstory makes it even better. I had not planned this particular journey, but some of the most powerful images I shot during that trip happened thanks to that canceled flight. In these types of consistently disruptive circumstances, an overall shift in perspective takes place. In retrospect, the entire experience turned out to be perfect.

A boy from Kharkhorin (Хархорин) wearing a traditional “deel”or robe, with a silk sash. / Two brothers from Khövsgöl Lake (Хөвсгөл нуур).

Looking back, all my visits to Mongolia have been marked by unexpected moments like these. One place in particular is layered with memories. Many years ago, when I first arrived on the Trans Siberian railway, with no plans and little idea of a destination, I saw a tiny blue dot on the map, in the far west of the country. I could just make out the words, Üüreg Nuur, a lake. Somehow attracted to it, I decided that was where I was going to go. A few days later, I took the picture of the mother and her baby son, and over the years, I have returned many times, making friends and photographing most of the families living there. I have seen toddlers become teenagers, teenagers grow into young adults, and older men pass away. The full cycle of life.

Wrapped baby, held by his sister, at Üüreg Lake in western Mongolia.

Last summer, I returned to Üüreg Lake once again, in June, traveling with two local guides. At some point we stopped because we came across a group of herders who had all of their sheep laid down by the water so they could shear them. When I pointed my camera towards this man, he lifted the sheep high up above his head. It was completely unexpected. Intrigued, I shot a few frames and then asked him, “Why did you do that?” He said, “I don’t know — it is something I have always wanted to do.” Often photography inspires a certain playfulness and spontaneity; there is something fundamentally human about posing for a camera.

A local herder shearing his sheep on the shores of Üüreg Lake (Үүрэг нуур) in western Mongolia.

Perhaps, above all, in this country, I have learned how to adapt.

Nothing unfolds as you might first imagine, but these unanticipated moments bring rich and beautiful gifts. Traveling here has brought me a new perspective, even some wisdom, particularly as it relates to being attached to expectations and schedules. Over time, I have relaxed my grip on the rigidity of my own culture and let go enough to accept what will be. I have applied this in my everyday life. Even if I am on an intense shoot for a commercial job, I now trust that everything will eventually work out just fine.

Two friends go out for a ride near their home by Üüreg Lake (Үүрэг нуур) in western Mongolia.

“A strong cold wind gets up from the W.N.W — that is to say, at our back — but we are on a desolate steppe, where we can find neither shrub nor anything else which can help to combat the cold that it is beginning to be unpleasant. On the other hand, we come upon some very pretty flowers, lovely wild pansies and edelweiss that would delight the heart of an Alpinist.” 

FRENCH EXPLORER, GABRIEL BONVALOT

Across Thibet, The Mongols, 1891

Buddhist monastery in the summer months. / A frozen river winds through the stark landscape, on a flight from Ulaanbaatar to Ölgii.

You will find two contrasting dimensions in Mongolia, bound both by culture and geography. It is the 19th largest country in the world, yet there are only three million people living there. Close to half that population is located in the capital city of Ulaanbaatar, today the country’s industrial and financial heart, where technology has evolved considerably.

Meanwhile, the rest of Mongolia’s people are dispersed all over the country in small villages and towns, with some thirty percent still choosing a nomadic or semi-nomadic way of life, moving across the land with their horses. People may have a satellite dish or cell phone, but connection is erratic. Here, life is very slow; it hasn’t really changed over time.

A remote satellite dish provides the evening’s entertainment. / A herder smokes a cigarette rolled from a scrap of newspaper.

Vast plains and beautiful landscapes are the hallmark of these remote lands. The air is pure. The food is very simple. Essentially, a meal is meat that has been taken from a sheep killed that morning and cooked with some flour. The customary tea is called suutei tsai and made with mare’s milk and salt. My initial physical experience in Mongolia is always an exponential energy increase from the combination of fresh air, vast open space, outdoor activity, and unprocessed food intake. It is amazing. It toughens you up — all that vitality and energy.

A herder, his wife, and their five young children make their way to winter pastures, transporting their “ger” or yurt and all their belongings.

There is a spiritual effect as well. Mongolia, overall, is a very flat country, and you can see for many kilometers. Nothing to obstruct you. Somehow, being able to see so far away brings you back to the moment, to where you stand right now. You float through that space. There is a reflection that delivers your own reflection directly back to you. This sense of place and of self, it centers you. In Mongolia, I am able to stay in the moment much more powerfully than other places. The strength and vibrance coupled with the spiritual energy from grounding in the present, is a restorative experience.

“Та өндөр бүтээхийг хүсэж байгаа бол, Хэрэв та гүн ухаж байх ёстой.” — If you want to build high, you must dig deep.

MONGOLIAN PROVERB

Bayanzag (Улаан Эрэг) or the “Flaming Cliffs” in Mongolia’s Gobi Desert are said to appear to be on fire as the sun sets.

For years, I wanted to photograph the Kazakh, a robust people living in the extreme western part of the country high in the Altai Mountains, who traditionally hunt on horseback with golden eagles. In December 2015, the opportunity finally presented itself. I had two weeks; everything was arranged. The eagle hunters are all ethnic Kazakh their ancestors having fled to neighbouring Mongolia during the mid to late 19th century, in the face of the advance of the Russian Empire troops during the communist era. Some speak Mongol; many don’t. They are Muslim, rather than Buddhist, and for most of the 20th century they remained an isolated, tightly knit community.

The hunter, Jaidarkhan, an ethnic Kazakh whose ancestors fled to Mongolia, and his eagle.

Living by the ancient art of eagle hunting, I found them to be very generous, kind people. In Kazakh, the word qusbegi, or falconer, comes from the words qus (“bird”) and bek (“lord”), translating as “lord of birds.”

These days, however, only a few Kazakh are still traditional hunters. Some continue primarily for show, as there is a new tourist economy that can support the fading art form, especially each October, when eagle hunting customs are displayed at the Kazakh’s annual Golden Eagle Festival.

In good years, Kuantkhan Ologban and his eagle catch around 30 animals. Some years, none are caught at all due to extreme weather.

Winter in Mongolia often brings raw, biting winds, and extremely challenging conditions, so our journey to reach Kazakh lands was demanding. When we finally arrived, utterly exhausted, in temperatures of –30°C, I quickly became sick with a fever and was forced to stay in bed for seven days. I was deeply disappointed. My guide, and friend, Enkhdul, with whom I’ve crossed the entire country many times, in all seasons, from the Gobi Desert to Tsaatan lands in the extreme north, and from the eastern plains to the Altaii mountains in the far west, told me, “We are not leaving! You have been talking about coming here, to do this, for years.” So, I waited it out and got better. However, I had only three days to shoot everything.

Hunters value their eagles immensely. In winter, they sleep inside with the family. / Alpam, who is learning the art of hunting from his father.

The Kazakh community is quite incredible and their stories fantastic: how they proceed, scaling remote and cragged mountain peaks to find the eagle they will raise. The relationship that forms between the hunter and eagle has a special connection and symmetry that can only come from time and great care. Sometimes a hunter will work with an eagle for ten or twenty years.

Dalaikhan, a champion hunter, with his 2-year-old eagle. He is wearing fox-skin clothes from previous successful hunts.

As we were so far north, in the middle of December, the hours of daylight were few. The sun was consistently low on the horizon, casting a golden, soft light on everything and everyone it touched. But once the sun disappeared, the temperatures plummeted to a frigid –20°C. My analogue camera would jam and stop working completely, forcing me to end for the day. Once again, gifts and challenges.

After just one day, my camera and I had become seemingly invisible, to all but the inquisitive eyes of the youngest child.

Like so many other times in this vast and windswept country, my expectations did not match the reality. I had planned for two weeks and received a mere three days. But, those brief days surpassed anything I could have hoped for in quality and depth of relationship. Their grace and exceptional strength was tangible. Here, among the sweeping landscape and rugged way of life that shapes the inhabitants of this part of the world, I could imagine the men who rescued my grandfather.

The mountainous landscape dwarfs two Kazakh hunters and their horses in the far west of Mongolia, near the village of Altai (Алтай).

While the heroic ferocity of my grandfather’s Mongol Army certainly inspired my obsession with this country, we are all products of our experience. Regardless of culture, each of us are indelibly shaped by the events and history of the generations that precede us. I may have first come to Mongolia in search of warriors, but I return again and again having discovered raw beauty and elegance in a country equally ethereal as it is grounded.

Casting a diffuse, shimmering light, the winter sun was low in the sky, as we watched this young herder and his cattle pass by.

Maybe it is the influence of my professional background, but I have grown attuned to noticing elegance, even in the wildest places in the world. There is always a glimpse of quiet splendor, an angle that calls out something beautiful. Perhaps the knotting of a silk cord along a side pocket or a belt that is latched around a robe, maybe hair done a certain way. I am attracted to these graceful elements and know when I see them that I will make a photo.

Summer rain clouds gather over the lush grazing pastures on the shores of Üüreg Lake (Үүрэг нуур). / A farmer, pausing for a moment, in his day’s work. / A young woman wearing a traditional “deel” or robe.

All of this is an odyssey. In Mongolia, this journey is most often about shooting in difficult places and seeking the elegant angle. I found photography very late in my life, but am thrilled to discover the range of perspective it offers. It is a learning process that requires great sensitivity. There are constant questions: How am I able to emotionally perceive what I see? What will it take to tell this story in a unique way? All of this fascinates me. This is my passion project. After fifteen years, I have a much better sense of what makes my work distinctive. My sense is that over time, my images have become more artful. Still, this is a work in progress.

I am always exploring.

—

COMING SOON

For years, I have been working to collect material for a retrospective book of my photographic work and experiences in Mongolia. In Fall of 2018, I will be publishing a limited collectible edition of 1,000 books in a large format (17 inches x 14 inches) with more than 250 pages. There will also be a handful of special editions that are offered with a signed print and a special book encasement. Follow along on my Instagram @fredericlagrange to keep up-to-date.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA.

FRÉDÉRIC LAGRANGE

Photographer & Director based in Brooklyn, NYC shooting for a diverse range of clients worldwide. Capturing nuanced human stories through evocative color & black and white photography.

fredericlagrange.com

MOVE

3 guys, 44 days, 11 countries, 18 flights, 38 thousand miles, an exploding volcano, 2 cameras and almost a terabyte of footage... all to turn 3 ambitious linear concepts based on movement, learning and food ....into 3 beautiful and hopefully compelling short films.....

= a trip of a lifetime.

Move, eat, learn.

A Refugee-Run Restaurant in Lisbon's Mercardo de Arroios

Mezze: Rebuilding, with Food

In a market as diverse as Lisbon’s Mercado de Arroios, where people from all over the world shop, Mezze doesn’t seem out of the ordinary. But the small restaurant deserves a closer look: it’s not only one of Lisbon’s few Middle Eastern restaurants, but, more importantly, its staff is almost entirely made up of recently arrived Syrian refugees. For them Mezze represents both a link back to the country they left behind and a crucial aid for putting down roots in their new home.

The idea behind Mezze is one that’s being tried out in other countries. Refugees, particularly those fleeing the war in Syria, are given the chance to earn a living and get established by sharing their culinary heritage, either by opening or working at a restaurant or catering business. The benefit is not just for the refugees, who are able to earn some money while at the same time preserving a taste of home, but also for their new communities, who can support those displaced by war and gain insight into their cultural heritage through the universal language of food.

Mezze’s start, though, was motivated by something simpler – the desire for bread. Alaa Alhariri, a 24-year-old Syrian woman who came to Portugal to study architecture in 2014 after a brief time spent studying in Egypt and Istanbul, was missing the flatbread she used to buy back home. “Bread is the beginning of everything, it exists in every culture,” she says. “In the Middle East it means family, it means sharing. Syrians open bakeries as soon as they arrive in Turkey and in other countries as well.”

Alaa is one of the four founders of the non-profit Pão a Pão, which means “Bread by Bread,” a name inspired by the Portuguese saying “Grão a Grão” (“Grain by Grain,” which has a similar meaning to “step by step”). The organization was the brainchild of Alaa and Francisca Gorjão Henriques, another cofounder and Pão a Pão’s current president. Francisca and Alaa met by chance – Alaa was living with Francisca’s aunt. Pão a Pão was originally created with the intention of opening a bakery.

“Refugees [from Syria] started to arrive in Portugal in 2015 under the European Union program to relocate them,” explains Alaa, whose eyes shine with enthusiasm when talking about the project (while she’s heavily involved in behind-the-scenes work, she doesn’t work at the restaurant). “They only receive state assistance for two years, after which the funds stop.” The aim of Pão a Pão is to help young people and women, in particular, integrate into the work force. “Some of these women have never worked before,” says Alaa. “They’ve been housewives all their lives.”

But the team at Pão a Pão began to think bigger; the bakery plan was scrapped and their new aim was to open a restaurant. They organized a series of successful test dinners in December 2016, which took place in an old covered market that had been converted into an events space. Buoyed by the positive response, Pão a Pão felt confident in taking the plunge. They were able to crowdfund just over 23,000 euros (around $30,000) – almost 10,000 euros more than the initial goal – over the course of 2017, with the restaurant finally opening its doors in September, serving such classic Syrian dishes as moussaka, kibbeh (fried balls made of bulgur, minced meat and walnuts), kabseh (rice with vegetables and chicken) and baba ganoush.

“The people working here feel like they’re doing something useful. So the more people we can help feel this way, the better.”

“People’s reactions have been amazing, it is better than we could expect, we’re always busy,” says Francisca, who recently left her job as a journalist at the Público newspaper to concentrate on her work with the organization. “We have improved a lot since our first test dinners, especially considering that 90 percent of the team had no prior experience.”

Mezze has also been extremely well received by the Mercado de Arroios’s neighboring shops and stalls, which supply the restaurant with its ingredients. Everything Mezze cooks with comes from the market except the meat, which is sourced from a halal butcher in Almada, south of Lisbon.

Perhaps more significantly, the refugees employed by Mezze take pride in their work. Serena, a 24-year-old from Palestine who has been living in Lisbon for one year now, loves the atmosphere at the restaurant. But, more importantly for her, she values the chance to show that refugees are the same as everyone else: “We work hard, we love life and want to be part of society as much as anyone.”

While we talk, she welcomes people to the restaurant and explains the menu. “The Portuguese ask a lot of questions because they don’t know these dishes but everyone loves the food,” she says. Although she finds the language difficult, she considers Portugal to be her home now. “It’s my home, where I find myself,” she explains. “It still has traditional a family structure, family bonds, and at the same time, more freedom of movement and speech.”

Rafat Dabah, 21 years old, has been in Portugal for just under two years, after being relocated with his family from Egypt, where they first moved after leaving Syria. “My father had a restaurant in Syria and in the school holidays I would work there with him,” he tells us. “Here in Portugal I worked in a kebab place in a shopping center.” This experience seems to have served him well. He began working as a waiter at Mezze, but is now the restaurant’s manager – he eagerly explains the improvements they have made at the restaurant and the positive feedback they’ve received from diners.

Originally from Damascus, he lives in Lisbon with his younger brother and his mother, who also works at Mezze. His older brother, 24, lives in Turkey. His father died in the war. Living in Loures, a suburb north of Lisbon, Rafat can’t image going back home to Damascus anytime soon. “It’s tough there. Sadly things are still dangerous.”

As for life in Portugal, he doesn’t feel quite at home yet, although it’s getting better. He tells us how he’s enjoying learning so much, including the Portuguese language. “To integrate you need to learn the language, I’ve learned a lot and I’m practicing more now,” he says. “Once I could communicate, life became much easier.”

This isn’t the first time refugees have made Portugal their home. Because of its neutrality during the Second World War, the country saw a large influx of exiles from other European countries as well as North Africa. Likewise, hundreds of thousands fled to Lisbon after the independence of Angola and Mozambique in 1975. More recently, 1,659 refugees took shelter in the country as a result of the Balkan wars in the early 1990s.

In the last two years, 1,507 refugees (mostly Syrians but also some from Iraq and Eritrea) were relocated to Portugal from Greece and Italy, according to the Portuguese Council for Refugees. The Portuguese Government announced recently that they would receive 1,000 more currently residing in Turkey (again, mostly Syrians but also some from other Middle Eastern countries). Although small in number compared to the massive number of refugees being sheltered in the countries bordering Syria, they are being welcomed warmly. The extraordinary success of Mezze speaks to that.

The support of the Portuguese people has been fundamental to the realization of this project, which leads us to wonder if this openness would have been possible, say, even 20 years ago. “Maybe 20 years ago, without social media amplifying this disaster at the gates of Europe, this wouldn’t be possible,” admits Francisca. “At the same time, today’s Lisbon is much more cosmopolitan than it was 20 years ago. Diversity is now a prime feature in some parts of the city, like in the Arroios neighborhood.”

The ongoing support of Lisboetas, many of whom felt a wave of solidarity with the refugees after Europe initially bungled the refugee crisis, has inspired Alaa and her colleagues to think bigger. “We’re thinking of opening another location. The Portuguese love to eat and we’re lucky that they love our food,” says Alaa.

Francisca confirms the plans to open another place. “We’ve developed this project with the hope of replicating it in Lisbon and other cities in the country. We’re still starting out and we want to improve, but we think we might be able to open in other locations in a year. We also hope to expand our current Mezze to include a take-away and catering service.” They also have plans for debates and workshops, with Pão a Pão hosting a conference on integration at Mezze on Friday, January 26.

According to Alaa, the people working at the restaurant “feel happy, they feel like they’re doing something useful. So the more people we can help feel this way, the better.”

This article originally appeared in Culinary Backstreets, which covers the neighborhood food scene and offers small group culinary walks in a dozen cities around the world.

AUTHOR

CÉLIA PEDROSO

Célia, CB’s Lisbon bureau chief, is a freelance journalist, writing mostly about travel and food, and is the co-author of the book "Eat Portugal", winner of a Gourmand World Cookbook Award. Her work can be seen in such publications as The Guardian, Eater, and DestinAsian. In 2014 she started leading food tours in Lisbon through Eat Portugal Food Tours and now does the same with CB. She wrote the Portuguese entries for the book "1001 Restaurants you Must Experience Before you Die" and keeps searching for the best pastéis de nata so you don't have to.

PHOTOGRAPHER

RODRIGO CABRITA

Photographer Rodrigo Cabrita was born in Oeiras, Portugal in 1977. He started his career at the daily newspaper Diário de Notícias in 2001 and has worked at a variety of publications since then. He is now a freelance photographer and takes part regularly in exhibitions. Rodrigo has won several photojournalism awards, most notably the Portuguese Gazeta award. You can see more of his work at his website and his Instagram page.

NEPAL: The Sun, The Moon, and the Truth

A film by Neal Howland. This film, with narration by Osho Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh explores the charming nature and culture of Nepal, exploring the attitudes we have towards the natural world.

Tokyo Gen

A short film about Tokyo's unique street culture.

Hiking the "Deadly" Kalalau Trail

Ryan J. Harris and his travel mates attempt to hike up the dangerous Kalalau Trail in Hawaii in pursuit of the best pizza in the world. Usually you just pick up the phone and call Dominos but sometimes to get a good slice you got to put in work. They hiked the Kalalau Trail in search of a mystical pizza maker they had gotten word of.

How Yemeni Women Are Fighting the War

Since 2015, a Saudi-led coalition has waged war against Shia Houthi forces in Yemen. More than 8,000 people have been killed, and more than 49,000 injured; at least 69% of the population is reportedly in need of humanitarian assistance. Million of Yemenis are facing starvation. Weapons circulation is widespread and uncontrolled: in 2016, a UN report estimated that between 40m to 60m firearms were circulating freely in the country.

The conflict has had a devastating impact on the women of the country. Household breadwinners are usually men; many are fighting, injured or killed. There is an economic crisis in the private sector, and many public sector jobs are no longer paying salaries. The health and security of the female population is endangered by exposure to cholera and other diseases. And then there’s the issue of child marriages: the severe poverty crisis means that prepubescent girls are married off to repay debts, or to raise funds to feed the rest of the family.

A woman from the Northern Ibb region, which is occupied by the rebel Houthi army, explained the situation to a research team:

We live in a state of lawlessness: no security, no protection and no functional law enforcement authorities. A person may be shot dead for a trivial thing. The security situation doesn’t look like it did in the past. Now, there are informal groups behaving as if they were law enforcement authorities. These groups have power, and their power is the law. They use force against whoever disagrees with them or criticises their behaviour.

As the feminist scholar Cynthia Enloe has pointed out, women are crucial for war and play supportive roles for the military. Indeed, many Yemeni women are not victims of war or just escaping or hiding from this war. In many contrasting ways, they are actively supporting it, and not only on humanitarian grounds.

Women engaging in war

Although many Yemeni women discourage their family members from taking part in the conflict and very few take up arms themselves, they also help recruit men to the army. They also support combatants by cooking food for them and helping to distribute it.

A young woman, Nasseem Al-Odaini, whose family has fled to the neighbouring Ibb region, stayed behind in Houthi-occupied Taiz and initiated an organisation that assist the combatants that support the former government. As she told Middle East Eye: “We want to encourage the pro-government forces to advance in the province, by raising the spirits of the fighters”.

Other Yemeni women try to mitigate the impact of the conflict the best way possible. For example, women engage in humanitarian relief and in providing social and psychological support for people who have been traumatised by the war. They also engage in peace processes when they initiate discussions of the conflict in their communities.

Since the war is not equally intense in every part of the country, there are better possibilities for women to participate in peace processes around the port city of Aden, in the south, than it is in the north, where the Houthi army has taken control and Saudi coalition airstrikes are part of everyday life. Accordingly, women’s conditions and activities differ from one region to another.

Yemeni women and girls wait to receive free bread provided by a charity bakery during a severe shortage of food in Sana'a, Yemen, 15 August 2017. EPA/YAHYA ARHAB

A blocked momentum

In the north, local communities are more divided (between supporters and adversaries of the Houthi government) than in the south. When women enter the public and participate in charity work, they may be questioned by “de facto authorities” (read: the Houthi army) who, according to one woman, would try to prevent them from doing their work. They would also tell women that they are not allowed to appear in public before men:

They [the Houthis] are opposed to women playing a role in public life. According to them, the woman’s role is restricted to cooking and housework. They marginalise women; they deny their role in the community.

Women in Northern and Southern parts of Yemen are not full citizens. According to Amnesty International, they “face discrimination in matters of marriage, divorce, inheritance, and child custody, and the state fails to take adequate measures to prevent, investigate, and punish domestic violence”. Discrimination against women in Yemen go back far beyond the war and are associated with local customs according to several studies. And yet, Yemeni women maintain their engagement in the development of their country.

An old engagement

During the popular uprising in the country in 2011 where hundreds of thousands of Yemenis followed the “youth movement” and protested against the corrupt reign of the then-president, Ali Abdullah Saleh, Yemeni women took to the streets to an extent that was unforeseen and unprecedented.

Many women participants were independent of political groups, but in the later stages of the protests the Islamic Reform party – inspired by the Muslim Brotherhood – managed to take charge of the protest movement, raising independent women’s concern that their rights would be disregarded.

However, independent women and women belonging to the political parties, including the Islamic Reform party and the Houthi political wing, Ansar Allah, constituted almost one third of participantsin the UN-guided National Dialogue Conference which followed the forced resignation of the President in November 2011. The aim of the 10 months long conference was to formulate a new and more democratic constitution for a united Yemen. However, the draft constitution which included a general 30% gender quota was rejected  by the Houthi movement in September 2014, before the population had given their voice in a referendum.

By then disappointment with the process towards a new Yemen had given the Houthis wide popular support. They occupied major government institutions in the capital, Sana'a and removed the transition government recognised internationally. Interestingly, it was not the gender quota which made the Houthis reject the draft constitution, but the view to a power-sharing model which did not give them what they expected.

The Houthi movement’s occupation of the capital and seizure of government seemed to mark both the beginning of a war, and the end of momentum for women’s rights in Yemen – a country which generally figures in the lowest ranks of Arab gender equality indexes. In 2014, a group of women from diverse political backgrounds pushed for political solutions instead of war. Since then they have been sidelined from peace negotiations – but that doesn’t mean that Yemeni women have lost all hope.

This article was originally published on The Conversation.

CONNIE CHRISTIANSEN

Dr. Connie Carøe Christiansen is a visiting associate professor in Gender Studies. She was an associate professor at Roskilde University in Denmark and a senior advisor at KVINFO, the Danish Centre for Research and Information on Gender, Equality and Diversity, where she managed academic programs in the Arab region, including a program which established an M.A. program on International Development and Gender at Sanaa University in Yemen. She has published research on gender, migration and Islam in Denmark, Turkey, Morocco and Yemen. She has her M.A. in Cultural Sociology and Ph.D. in Anthropology from Copenhagen University, Denmark. 

COLOMBIA: Slow Motion Travel

Filmmaker Chris Grewe displays his best experiences while traveling Colombia in slow motion.

MACAU: Debris

This video by Vhils and José Pando Lucas tackles the rapid modernization and globalization of the world. It is in memory of Lucas' father, his grandparents, and the inner mountains of Portugal. Scenery in this film consists of modern life in Macau as Lucas thinks back to the lifestyle of his grandparents and the now rapid-pace lifestyle he lives. This short film shifts between documentary and fiction, says Lucas, since the story is about his grandparents but it is also a story shared by many around the world. 

Instravel - A Photogenic Mass Tourism Experience

Oliver Kmia came up with this idea last year while traveling in Roma. He describes his film and the backstory: "I wanted to take a look at the popular Trevi Fountain but never managed to get close to it. The place was assaulted by hundreds of tourists, some of them formed a huge line to get a spot in front of the Fountain. Needless to say that I was very pissed by this sight and left for the not less crowded Pantheon.

I was shocked by the mass of people walking all around the city, yet I was one of them, not better or worst. Like all these tourists, I burned hundred of gallons of fuel to get there, rushed to visit the city in a few days and stayed in a hotel downtown. Then, I remembered a video I watched a few months earlier from the artist Hiérophante (vimeo.com/151297208). I decided to make this kind of sarcastic video but with the focus on travel and mass tourism. Hiérophante admitted that his video was "cliché" and that he got inspired by other videos. So I'm basically making fun of something I'm part of. The irony is strong."

You can find a more in-depth article here about the idea behind the video and its creation.

REFUGE: Human Stories From the Refugee Crisis

A small team of filmmakers set out for Greece, documenting human stories from the frontlines of the European Refugee Crisis, focused on humanity and hope. The world was changing and they found themselves at a crossroads in history, so they set out to help in the way that they knew best - with the telling, and sharing, of stories. RefugeProject.co

The Meaning of Travel: A New Guide For Millennials

In today’s highly connected and accessible world, to go anywhere is easy.
But to be a true traveler? That’s the daunting task.

Many of us have taken planes, and have gone to exotic places outside of where we grew up and live. Be it a backpacking trip to India, a short weekend holiday spent in Bali, or a work-related trip to Johannesburg, the act of going somewhere outside of our personal zone of familiarity and comfort is often seen as an opportunity offering some form of inner transformation.

Indeed, the act of exposing ourselves to the foreign and unknown can evoke a plethora of new feelings in us. Sometimes, this experience leads us to new perspective, or even new decisions about ourselves and our lives.

Don’t be mistaken though, not all journeys that we take will lead us to a new self at the end of the road.

More often than not, we return home as the same person as we were before, just with a few more stories to tell and a few more memories to reminisce about during our mundane 9-to-5 job.

So, you may ask, what differentiates a trip that leaves us unchanged, from a travel experience that can potentially transform us from the inside out? How can I make my travels mean more? How do I get more out of them?

Well, there is no one way to achieve it, that’s for sure. We are all different individuals, from different backgrounds and with our own interpretation of the world.

Having said so, we are all similar in so many ways too. A genuine smile, a simple greeting, or an act of kindness may be all it takes for two persons separated by their backgrounds and languages to relate and connect with each other.

Photo by Laura Grier

Hear someone out. Listen to their story.

To travel is not just to see and to experience, but also to listen. I think many people missed out on that, and therefore, on a great learning opportunity. To listen is to try to empathise, to put yourself in the other person’s shoes.

By listening to the stories of the strangers we meet on the roads, about their lives, about their view of what’s happening in the world, about their dreams for the future, we gained not just the knowledge and viewpoint of another human being, but also learn of the value and validity of our own pre-existing views and beliefs.

“Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.”
— Maya Angelou

That’s how we gain human perspective I think — not by looking at the endless Himalayan mountain range, or the ebb and flow of the sea by the beach. You’ll never know, sometimes it’s the most unexpected persons who impart us with the most valuable lessons in life.

Photo by Prashant Ashoka

Also, tell your story.

I often hear people say that they travel to feel free again. They explained that traveling helps them escape temporarily from the realities back at home — their old problems, burdens and responsibilities.

True enough, being in a foreign land where nobody knows anything about you does have its unique liberating quality. You can be anybody, and you can be nobody. There, I think, is where you find your most authentic self, and then be it.

“… sometimes one feels freer speaking to a stranger than to people one knows. Why is that? Probably because a stranger sees us the way we are, not as he wishes to think we are.”
— Carlos Ruiz Zafón

Photo by Laura Grier

How do you start? Well, relax. Don’t overthink it. Instead, try to enjoy the process of letting go of your insecurities, your fears and inhibitions. What better ways to get things off your chest than to confide in a stranger whom you know you’ll never meet again? There! You just save yourself a costly trip to a therapist.

Jokes aside, it does take time and a few tries before you learn to open yourself up, not just to strangers, but to the world as a whole. But trust me, once you’ve reached that point, you will begin to see the world in a more fearless and unprejudiced manner.

Last but not least, leave your mark.

Make your travel different and more meaningful by contributing to the local cause. And no, I’m not talking about volunteering here. Neither am I talking about donating old clothes, books and stuff that people might not really need.

By contributing, I mean helping locals who want to help themselves. By aiding them in creating a positive outcome that is both tangible and sustainable. That’s what I think a real positive impact entails. That’s how we truly help.

Want to help build a treehouse? A project on TravelStarter is offering just that.

Some local businesses may be starting up or in the process of renovation and need some funding. One easy way to get in touch with these people — the entrepreneurs, designers or small business owners living/working in the area you’re traveling to — is through online crowdfunding platforms like Kickstarter and Indiegogo, which have thousands of projects coming in from all across the globe.

To skip the hassle of searching through the tons of projects which may not be relevant to your needs, you can also try TravelStarter, a travel-specific crowdfunding platform with a growing array of travel and tourism business projects from different parts of the world.

Want to help a Croatian instructor rebuild his sailing boat and be rewarded with a sailing course? Or help a New Zealander living in the Philippines rebuild his Con-Fusion Cafe after typhoon Yolanda destroyed the restaurant? Or are you headed down to San Diego anytime soon? Help a new B&B at Pacific Beach in their funding raising efforts to refurnish the hostel. For a contribution of $80, you will be rewarded with a two-night stay, a three-hour whale watching tour and also a brewery tour!

Photo by San Diego Whales And Dolphins

With the help of platforms like TravelStarter, travelers are encouraged and enabled to engage in more locally instigated experiences.

That’s not only a good way to help somebody, it’s probably the best way to make a local friend too. Definitely an experience that’s worth more than what you fork out of your pocket.

Photo by Ivon Domingo

At the end of the day,

Or at the end of your life, you will realise that it’s not the places you have seen, the crazy adventures you have gone through, or the pictures that you have taken that matters the most.

It’s the people that you have met along the way — those whom you have helped, those whom you have loved, those whose lives you have touched — that really mean the most. They are what made you a true traveler of life.

Lastly, always remember:

“A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.”
— Tim Cahill

The world’s waiting for you. Now GO!

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON THE COFFEELICIOUS.

KEAY NIGEL

Keay Nigel is an independent writer/designer currently based in San Francisco. He has lived in the Hongkong, China, India and various parts of the United States. Travel is his passion and he's been documenting his overseas adventures through YouTube videos. Check out more of his writings here.

INDIA: The Rickshaw Adventure

A group of Americans meet up in Trivandrum, India to embark on an adventure across the country by rickshaw. After a quick night of rest they check out their Tuk Tuk (rickshaw) for the first time. These manual two-stroke engines take them a little while to figure out, but by the end of the day, they were confident... or so they thought.

My First Zero-Bag Trip and Why It Was Important

I’m grateful to be fortunate in a few ways, but the one lucky bit currently on my mind is that I like to write. Generally, and especially when it comes to this blog, I try and write about things that seem important. I can certainly pound out mindless marketing drivel at ~90wpm as I did for a grueling six months in one particular job, but I never thought that was important (though I lied at the interview and said I did). In the years since calling that my profession I’ve learned some things. One of those things is not to lie at job interviews because even if you do get a job you don’t like, you will not be able to sustain it day-in and day-out. Another thing I’ve learned is that writing words that do not seem important is like eating at Taco Bell. It might seem like a good idea before you start, there’s no actual discernable benefit other than a temporary dopamine hit, and even as you’re doing it you find yourself wondering why.

I try and write blog posts that, at their most unsuccessful, will at least entertain. If they are a little more successful they might point you towards an object or idea that can be of use to you. My most successful posts will do both, and if I’m really on a roll, without any spelling mistakes. If I have an idea for some writing that will do none of those things, I don’t write it.

Sometime before the new year I had the opportunity to visit a beautiful landmark someplace close to my old hometown, the beautiful capital city of Toronto, ON. (There’s a joke in there for my Ottawa friends.) I went to Niagara Falls for a two-day, one-night trip. Being in a particularly minimalist mood as I decided what to pack up in my bag for the trip, I had a thought that sauntered into my mind, sat down, and refused to leave. It was: “All right Miss Fancy-Pants one-bagger, how about a real challenge? Don’t bring a bag.”

Since in my general experience the thoughts that refuse to leave are the ones that turn out to be important (even if at the time I don’t know why), I decided to listen to it. So aside from the items I take with me daily (wallet, phone, headphones, power bank), here’s what I brought for the two-day, one-night trip.

All I see when I look at this is how huge my fingers look.

I’m holding a little zip pouch with some lip balm, tweezers and cuticle trimmers (because all those things are annoying to not have on hand), and a just-in-case tampon. In my other hand is a pair of balled-up socks with some underwear tucked into the middle. These items went into the pockets of my Uniqlo down jacket, the jacket went onto me, and I went to Niagara Falls.

It was cold. I was unperturbed.

I know, you’re thinking, “But what about X?! How did you Y?! What did you do for Z?!” Well, I made some assumptions. The plan was to stay in a hotel. Since Niagara Falls is a city that inexplicably exists almost solely for tourists (and once long ago was a terribly bloody battlefield that soon after became a tourist attraction - but I digress) I figured the hotel room would be well appointed. I bet that there would be a toothbrush available, and soap to wash with, and probably skin lotion. The latter two of these assumptions resolved in my favor. There was mouthwash, at least.

I intended to wear most the same clothes on both days, aside from the change of socks and underwear, and this went fine. In fact, aside from the discovery that I never again want to go longer than twenty-four hours without brushing my teeth, I wasn’t really put out by not having more stuff with me. Actually, it was quite the opposite. Not having any bag at all made me feel quite like a kid at recess, freshly unshackled from the norm and wanting to run around just for the heck of it.

This was all some months ago and it’s taken me until now to write about it, mainly because I couldn’t decide why it was important. I figured it out earlier today during an altogether unrelated moment, listening to an audiobook at the gym. It was The View from the Cheap Seats by Neil Gaiman (my favourite author and a constant inspiration). If you happen to be at all interested in writing or observing life or breathing I highly recommend it. He speaks at one point about writing things to find out what it is he thinks of them. I had minimalism in the back of my mind and something fell into place. Like with the trip to Niagara Falls, and more importantly, in general, I experiment with doing without so I can discover what it is I really need - and to go a step further, to find out whether or not I have the fortitude and resourcefulness to do without anyway. It’s how I came to nomadism and traveling with one bag in the first place - by experimenting.

It’s all too easy to be on autopilot, doing things a certain way because that’s the way you’ve always done them. It’s a refreshing and informative experience to, just for the heck of it, try something that for you is completely unusual. It doesn’t matter if it’s about doing without, though it’s almost certainly guaranteed to make you feel uncomfortable, temporarily. It doesn’t have to stick, but it might. At the very least, you’ll learn something about yourself that you wouldn’t have found out otherwise. And that’s why it was important for me to take a short trip with nothing more than what fit in my pockets.

Next time, though, I’ll bring a toothbrush.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON HER ONE BAG.

VICKY LAI

Vicky is a software developer originally hailing from Toronto, ON Canada. She's been travelling the world while living out of one bag since 2016. She loves telling stories through writing and photography, and combines these passions at heronebag.com.

UAE: A Desert Palette

Located in the Arabian Desert on the southeast coast of the Persian Gulf, Dubai breaks all records and leaves you speechless. Surrounded by the world’s tallest building, the largest artificial islands, the first "7-star'' hotel, the biggest shopping mall and one of the largest indoor snow parks in the world, everything seems possible in this city. Dubai, once a humble fishing village, has developed into a thriving ethnically diverse metropolis.

But there is more to Dubai than its glamorous lifestyle and the ever-growing number of skyscrapers that shape the city skyline.

Having only 72 hours to experience this overwhelming city, we admittedly didn’t expect a lot. A stopover between two long-haul flights while still suffering from jet lag seemed like too little time to see anything, but for us it was just enough time to dig below Dubai’s shiny exterior.

These warm, golden and dusty hues of Dubai are still very present in my head. Visiting in July is not the best idea. Humidity and temperatures rise high during summer and it is very hard to handle, especially when you are coming from the North. The heat hits you like a wall when you step out of your air conditioned hotel and it is like nothing I have ever experienced before. It completely takes your breath away.

While wandering through Dubai’s bustling Souks you feel the oriental and traditional side in every corner. It’s bright, colorful, noisy and fascinating to explore the labyrinth of covered walkways with it’s tiny stores while the aromas of exotic scents lead you through.

Just a short drive and you are surrounded by untouched desert. Experiencing the seemingly fragile, windswept, rippled orange sand dunes is so majestic and magical.

Exploring them makes you feel very small and insignificant in this world.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON ROAM MAGAZINE.

EVI RITTER

Evi Ritter is an Austrian fine art travel and lifestyle photographer. She has lived in Zurich, Paris, Los Angeles and Germany before resettling in Sweden. She is an avid wanderer and wonderer. Through her photography you see her love of life’s simple pleasures and her love of the outdoors. Her style is minimal, light and fresh. She loves spending time with her family at the sea and exploring new places. You can follow her work on eviritter.com and her travels on Instagram @eviritter!

Two Years in Cambodia

It all started on a tuk tuk ride…

I had just landed in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, after covering the aftermath of Typhoon Haiyan (Yolanda) in Tacloban, Philippines.

Although I had never been there before, Cambodia was already the place I had decided to call home for the next year, or more. It was May 2014. The sky was still painted in black when I got off the plane and was engulfed by the warm and humid weather that, as I would learn over the following months, so much characterizes the country, especially at that time of the year.

As I exited the airport, all I could see was a chaotic frenzy of hands waiving and pointing to their tuktuks. They were all wearing similar clothes – sandals, a pair of pants and a shirt – and they all had big, unequivocally authentic smiles on their faces.

I don’t know if by instinct or pure luck, I ended up going with a driver who would later become a great friend of mine. Bunchai. His tuktuk was painted in red and it was so carefully and effusively decorated that it reminded me of the carnival parades we have in my home country Brazil.

As we cruised the quiet streets towards Tuol Tom Poung, a central neighborhood where a fellow photographer would host me until I found my own place, I just couldn’t believe in what I was experiencing. What was once just a dream was now a reality. I was indeed beginning a new life in Southeast Asia.

The Sun was just rising above the Tonle Sap and people were already doing choreographic exercises along the river promenade. Buddhist monks were walking around with their orange and red robes – some of them holding iPads -, and entire families were impressively balancing on the top of tiny and seemingly fragile motorbikes.

I fell in love immediately. I felt at home.

During the two years I was fortunate to spend in the country I obviously saw extreme poverty and shocking social-economic inequality. I witnessed – and documented – several and horrifying human rights violations. I learned about the atrocities and crimes against humanity committed by the Khmer Rouge, which took the lives of over 2 million people.

But I also saw remarkable resilience and an inspiring ability to find joy even in the most challenging circumstances. I saw generosity and kindness. Faith and Gratitude. Compassion and Happiness. I saw a younger generation trying to leave the past behind and embrace the future.

I explored remote and impressive temples from the 12th century; I spent relaxing days at paradisiac islands and sleepy river towns; I zigzagged through the chaotic traffic in Phnom Penh with my 1989 Vespa; and I had way too many beers with my local neighbors (most of them tuktuk drivers), who would always invite for a beer every time they saw me getting to or leaving my house. They never accepted a No for an answer.

I worked for magazines and I cooperated with many local and international NGOs. I photographed every single day during the time I was there and through this daily wanders I learned to see the extraordinary in the seemingly ordinary.

Cambodia has taught me lessons that I will forever carry on my heart and I hope I will have the chance go back in the near future. The recent news that the only opposition party has been dismantled is certainly worrying and it makes me think of all the friends I left there.

If up until recently Hun Sen – who has been in power since 1985! – at least tried to keep a democratic appearance to his government, it seems that now he is no longer concerned about exposing the true face of his (totalitarian) regime. Cambodians, who have gone through the horror of Khmer Rouge just a few decades ago, certainly deserve better and brighter days.

Bunchai, the first friend I made in the country, is still working at his day job and driving his tuktuk in the evenings and early mornings. The day we took that same way to the airport, but on the opposite direction, two years after our first encounter, was unusually cloudy and gray. I don’t remember seeing much during our ride. Perhaps I had too many thoughts and memories going through my mind…

When we finally reach the airport, after a trip that seemed to have last for an eternity, I give Bunchai a big hug and just can’t hold my tears. I ask him to take care of himself and his family, and I tell him that if he ever needs any help he must call me immediately.

He gives me that very same smile he had greeted me with two years earlier, and says, with both determination and confidence:

“No worry, my friend. I will be fine! See you soon!”

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON ROAM MAGAZINE.

BERNARDO SALCE

Bernardo Salce is a a Brazilian photographer whose work seeks to celebrate cultural diversity and raise social-environmental awareness. Having previously lived in Cambodia and Colombia, he is now based in San Diego, California. You can follow his work @bernardosalce.

http://www.bernardosalce.com/