Note from the Editor-in-chief
brendan van son
expand their comfort zones, to push readers to take the risks in life which scare them but will make them happy in the end. And to drive people to set their fears aside that so often cage them. So far, I think we've been very successful in that regard.
I remember a woman at a hostel once asking me if I was an “adventure traveller.� My response was a little bit of a laugh, followed by another question. Is there any other kind of travel? For me, travel in itself is always an adventure, otherwise it's just a vacation. One doesn't have to jump out of planes or plough through white water to have an adventure. Otherwise, an adventure constitutes any moment in which we push ourselves out of our comfort zones. In travel, we encounter these types of challenges on a daily basis. Whether it is attempting a new language, trying a new food, or even working up the courage to ask someone if you can take their picture. These are moments which force us to grow as human beings, these are all adventures.
This issue is a mosaic of adventure content. It is also the first issue that has been created with the help of our amazing columnists. We have articles from Sierra Leone, Japan, Mexico, Palau, and Ethiopia. We're showcasing the work of the incredible adventure photographer Ariel Body. We also have a photo essay from Antarctica by Dustin Main. In all, it's an exciting issue and one I'm very proud to share with you all. Stay Safe and Travel Recklessly,
While chatting with associate editor Will Peach about this issue, I told him that the theme would be adventure travel. He replied quickly, "Every issue is adventure, mate. That's what we do." He is spot on. At Vagabundo Magazine, our entire goal is to inspire people to
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Editor-in-Chief,
Brendan van Son ( @Brendanvanson)
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Note from the Associate Editor
Will Peach
Christmas is for the weak. That's right. You don't see the Vagabundo crew taking a break at this time of year, getting fat on aunty's chocolate and fielding the offensiveness that simply sitting alongside a family member brings. No chance. We're treating the festive season just like we treat every other calendar season. With brash indifference. There's traveling to do.
Well, Southeast Asia is the answer to that. Revisiting my own ghosts of Christmas traveling past, it was here, exactly four years ago, that I found myself first catching the travel and writing bug, first experiencing Christmas away from home and in the end, finding it to be a bit of a relief. The years since have been quite the ride. In and out of Europe, I'm all set this Christmas to finally celebrate some stability. December demarcates a full year being involved at Vagabundo, a full year playing Rudolph to jolly old Santa Brendan.
This issue, we avoid the sweeping festive fever and continue on in our quest to bring you travel tales, tips, and everything else from some of the world's most intrepid explorers and less talked about destinations. All while remaining on the road ourselves, far from wooden log cabins and snowball fights. Far from mince pies and George Michael's hair in the music video for "Last Christmas".
See you all in the New Year, after we slip down your digital chimneys and whip this new issue into your stockings.
Still, I guess you're wondering what Vagabundo's own Andrew Ridgely is up to this yuletide - especially now that you've just heard from the mag's own filthyhipped George Michael, Brendan van Son himself.
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Associate Editor,
Will Peach ( @WillPeach)
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contents
Guanajuato: The Colourful Heart of Mexico
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46 102
Kayaking Palau
Naked Mount Fuji Ethiopia's Past and Present Greatness
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Photo Corner: Ariel Body
Six in the City
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“Vagabundo Magazine strives to shed light on the road less travelled and those willing to blaze their own�
contributor info
Shutter Spot
6, 20, 58, 84
Editor-in-Chief: Brendan van Son Associate Editor: Will Peach Head of Design: Luis Alvarez Marketing Manager: Jackie DesForges Staff Writers: Sarah Kloke, David Hutt, Rachel MacNeill, Ash Clark, Susan Sharp and Zach Kuehner Intern: Lizzie Ruiz Freelance Contributors: Matt Gibson, Dustin Martin, Stephen Lioy, Katheryn LeBlanc Cover Photo: Brendan van Son
copyright info
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Vagabundo Magazine is a division of van Son Media. As such, the rights to the photography and written content within the pages of this magazine are owned by the contributors and the magazine itself. The people who contribute content to this magazine put a lot of effort in to ensuring their work is top quality; please do not degrade it by reproducing their words or copying their images without their permission and that of the magazine. Furthermore, it is against copyright law to distribute or re-sell this magazine without the permission of van Son Media and Vagabundo Magazine. We appreciate your support of the magazine and hope that we can continue producing inspiring work for years to come. Your respect of the aforementioned rights will ensure that our desire to continue putting forward inspiring work becomes a reality. Thank you.
contact information Email: editor@vagabundomagazine.com Phone: 1-347-270-8585 Website: http://www.vagabundomagazine.com
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empress lights by Brendan van Son ( @brendanvanson) www.brendansadventures.com “There are few cities in the world which I enjoy photographing more than Victoria. It really has everything a photographer wants. You can be shooting land and seascapes in the morning, gardens and wildlife in the afternoon, and urban spaces in the evening. This is a photo of the famous Empress Hotel. I shot from this angle, and in this light, to give a unique look to a well-known image.�
Guanajuato: The colourful heart of Mexico (
by Ash Clark @themostalive)
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A road trip through central Mexico can leave an Aussie traveller feeling nostalgic for their homeland. With the highway cutting through the dry and dusty open plains familiar to Australia, the parallels become uncanny. Leaving the bustling city of QuerÊtaro, this landscape becomes the trip’s constant companion, broken only by clumps of rural communities and villages that hug the freeway randomly along the way. Eventually, the landscape makes a drastic change in its appearance as our car turns into a rough-cut
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tunnel. Emerging from the other side, I find myself immersed in the middle of Mexico’s dynamic history: The City of Guanajuato. The fact that the city is accessed only by tunnels and found lying within a valley of a mountain range is of no coincidence.
The establishment of this Spanish outpost was centred on the discovery of silver in the mountains which surround it. In fact, silver found in the city became the source for over two thirds of the world’s total silver production, an achievement which led to Guanajuato becoming one of the wealthiest and most influential cities of the New Spain. The wealth and influence from its colonial past is still evident today as you walk the cobbled streets of the city.
The maze-like roads, alleyways, and tunnels, which stem from having to be built around the areas’ inconsistent terrain, all serve as one of the few reminders that I am not in the gridded streets of Madrid or Barcelona.
My wanderings eventually lead to me rising above the city in a public cable car, eventually arriving at the
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monument of El Pipila - Guanajuato’s very own hero of the revolution. Pipila became a legend for strapping a stone to his back as protection from royalist gunfire, as he crawled to the entrance of the city granary. After setting fire to its gates, this allowed the revolutionaries to take the building. The monument towers above the city lookout and is a forceful reminder of the city’s integral part in the narrative of the Mexican independence movement.
At night, the streets come alive with music and storytelling from the Callejoneadas. These groups of performers, mainly students of the local university, dress in traditional folk outfits and lead groups of locals and tourists alike through the city streets, singing favourites of the past and sharing the legendary tales native to Guanajuato.
The view from the lookout is an explosion of colour from the condensed city that lies below. Both the architecture and their range of colours flow in complete contrast of each other. Just as cathedrals, malls, parks, and theatres scatter themselves through the built up residential blocks which weave the cityscape together. Eventually the sun disappears behind the surrounding mountains, replaced by golden streetlights that bring the stone buildings of downtown together in a toned unison of highlights and shadows. The energy of day-to-day life in the city quickly transfers into an energetic nightlife scene.
The streets of central Guanajuato are lined with restaurants for all tastes and budgets, from exclusive boutique seatings to cheap-and-nasty taquerias.
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All the character, history and charm that Guanajuato offers has left me wondering one thing- why are these streets not filled with absolute crowds of foreign tourists? I’m not ignorant to this fact, as I had my fair share of “be careful” warnings before I left for Mexico. But this can only be attributed to the conflicting image painted by western media which yet again, is simply not conveying the truth. This is something I don’t take for granted though, because unlike other parts of the world which share some similarities, I don’t become a target for exploitation here. I’m left to enjoy the sights at my own pace. To simply just be. As the normality of local life goes on around me, I am not seen as a tourist or foreigner. I am
able to become a spectator of Mexico – the real Mexico.
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Horseback Riding in Soldier Hollow by Matt Gibson ( @xpatmatt) www.matt-gibson.org "I've never seen fall colors as brilliant as those I saw last year in Utah.
My girlfriend, Emilie, and I were horseback riding in the Wasatch Mountains near Park City when I snapped this photo. Between the dust rising from the trail and her brilliant surroundings, she looked positively angelic.
sierra leone
journey into
photographed and written
by Brendan van Son ( @BrendanvanSon)
Journey into Sierra Leone
As I watch them strap my bag to the flimsy metal back of a small Chinese-made motorcycle, I feel the words I so often catch myself saying slip past my lips. “I must be insane.”
The rain has been pounding the red earth of lower Guinea all morning and there are no signs of it letting up anytime soon. I’ve tried in vain to find transport from the town of Kindia to a national park on the Sierra Leonean side of the border called OutambaKilimi. There are sometimes shared taxis that make the journey, but I’m told that during the rainy season the voyage in car is arduous at best. So despite the reservations I have, I squeeze my body awkwardly between the driver and my bag, while packing fivethousand dollars or so worth of camera and computer gear on my shoulders.
Any sense of inhibition I may have been feeling slowly gives way to a gentle wave of adventure I ride without a care. Whimsically, we flow around the bends of beautiful highways high along the pastures of green and greener below. Rocky crags pierce out of the earth’s surface and lend to a dazzling, almost heavenly, trail of bridal veil waterfalls. But the road doesn’t stay so pleasant. As I say goodbye to my driver from Kindia, and jump on a new bike and enter Sierra Leone, the road in itself becomes the adventure. Pavement is beyond an afterthought, and the truth is that at this point we would settle for dirt. Rain beats heavier and thicker as we twist our way around puddles and dip the bike waist deep into rivers we can barely cross. At two separate points we drop the bike, ourselves below it. Each time my driver and I come to our feet laughing.
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It becomes clear to me, that my driver is enjoying the challenge as much as I am; perhaps more. There isn’t a river we cross, puddle we sink into, or patch of bumpy rock we climb which my driver – whom his friends call “the mechanic” – doesn’t burst into laughter as we attempt. Thoughts of the health of my electronics, which are likely soaked, are completely washed from my mind as my eyes glue in focused to the narrow strips of mud and grass I’ve been told are the road. After about 6 hours of riding I arrive at my first stop in the country of Sierra Leone, Outamba-Kilimi National Park.
Exhausted and elated, I dump by soaked bags, which somehow managed to protect my electronics, onto my bed in a hut along the Little Scarcies River. To the sound of creaking birds and playing monkeys, I fall victim to the dark night and I sleep as if it’s my last time. A guide meets me at the hut in the morning, and with a couple quick words in Krio welcomes me then pushes me towards a canoe. We are on a trek to find wildlife, although this time of year the vegetation has grown so wildly that only remnants of their presences are evident. And the signs of their existence are everywhere. “Dika, bush buck, deer,” the guide says as he points to tracks along the muddy trail. “They are all fresh, within a couple hours.”
But it is the signs of the world’s largest land mammal that have me beaming like a child on his birthday. The elephant prints are massive, and they are everywhere. In fact, the prints are a mere scratch they have made in the landscape in comparison to their other work. It seems a family of forest elephants has blazed a new trail, knocking down everything along the way, including some large palm trees. They force
is impressive, humbling even. Unfortunately, after an hour or so of tracking our trail runs wet as we find the tracks leading to the water and, for the elephants, a swimming escape from our tracking. Outamba-Kilimi is a stunning place, and although it didn’t find me elephants, or even the chimps I could hear calling from across the river, I managed to find peace in its forests and along its river.
I continue again by moto deeper into Sierra Leone. Signs of human life begin to appear more commonly as we move along, usually in the form of small children waving and calling out “hello, hello” or “white, white” as the bike passes by their homes. Signs of the war so often storied begin to surface as well. I pass through a village with the letters RUF engraved in the cement. But aside from the subtle reminder of the past, the violence of Sierra Leone I've been told of seems to be far from a current reality. Worlds away from the forests of the national park my weary eyes arrive in Freetown. The capital city hums in activity and bursts in excitement. There is no doubting you're alive while zigzagging through the streets of Freetown. Vendors shout out their sale of everything from loafs of bread to batteries. Paint strips in the humid air from the wooden stilt houses. But as a powerful shower strikes down on the city with force the entire town seems to shut down for it as they hide for cover. Freetown’s beautiful chaos is only extenuated by the ability to escape with ease. Surrounding the city are beautiful beaches, hillside retreats, and chimpanzee sanctuaries.
The coastal havens of No. 2 River and the Banana Islands are both secluded and undeveloped. They are the type of beach destinations that adventure travel-
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lers dream of. There are no screaming kids kicking sand, no hairy men wearing speedos two sizes too small, or wandering merchants selling necklaces. There are simply soft sand beaches on which lapping waves dance back and forth rhythmically. And most of all, there is peace.
As I continue my journey away from the bustle of the city and the calm of the forest I find myself far from the Sierra Leone the world had taught me to expect. I've met warm hearts, and expressive excitement. The war can't seem further from reality for me. However, as I enter the natural paradise known as Tiwai Island I'm explained how real it all was. My gentle guide stands no taller than five and a half feet from the soggy forest floor as we wander quietly through the tall trees searching for the monkeys that play among the branches. Between explanations of the footprints of the pygmy hippos and red river hogs we are tracking, he tells of the time he was captured by the rebels.
“They took us,” he says as I ask if he wanted to fight or if they were forced to. “I escaped though, some of my brothers were not so lucky.”
He tells of how the rebels stormed their village and forced guns in the hands of any able-bodied men. They were told to fight, or they would be killed. He told me that they held guns to their wives heads and told them they had the option of fighting with them or watching the people they love die before being killed themselves. “What would you do?” he asks me with a creaking tone to his voice as he stops in his tracks and looks up at me directly into the eyes.
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I couldn't imagine being put in such a place. The thought alone sends a wave of shame through my stomach as I realize I'd probably do the same as he did. While marching through the countryside he managed escaped into the forest where he survived using the hunting practices that he learned when he was young, the same practices that make him a great guide today. Despite the fact that I've been forced to come to grips that this country was once gripped by terrible evil, I can't help but feel only hope and joy in the hands of Sierra Leone today. Nowhere in the world have I felt so cared for as a foreigner, and there are few places in the world I really felt as trusting in those I met along the way. The hands of Sierra Leone were once covered in blood, but it seems that the stain of that blood is washing away slowly. With the success of a second consecutive democratic election, a slowly growing economy, and - most of all – peace, it seems that it's just a matter of time before this unassuming coastal country begins to establish itself as a tourism destination rather than an enclave of violence. As I again mount the back of a motorcycle and spin the wheels towards Liberia and I can't help but feel a sense of gratification, a sense of content, and a sense of peace in looking back on my time in Sierra Leone.
“Peaceful in Sierra Leone, who would have thought?”
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PHOTO CORNER: Exposing the work of
ariel body It's difficult enough taking beautiful photos from the ground while standing still in perfect conditions. However, to grab some of the most impressive images of adventure sports, photographers often have to put themselves in positions that are even more wild than those taking part in the activity. However, as we learn in our interview with photographer Ariel Body putting yourself out there for a great shot is always worth the challenge.
PHOTO CORNER: Exposing the Work of Ariel Body
El Pinacate, Puerto Pe単asco,
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BRENDAN: Ariel, thank so much for letting us run this interview with you, we really appreciate your time! Let’s get started with the basics, what got you into photography? ARIEL: Of course, it’s my pleasure! I remember the first digital camera we had was like .3 megapixels and had some 10mb of memory and was giant. I must’ve taken thousands of pictures of my pets and childish adventures with that thing. But I was fascinated with the challenge of finding new ways to look at everyday things. So I just kept shooting, trying new things, exploring new places… After that, I was hooked. Then one day in university, I realized that what I did for my career and what I loved to do didn’t have to be mutually exclusive. So I switched majors and have been designing and shooting the stuff I’m passionate about ever since.
Now, photography is one thing, but your images always seem to portray big scenes and shots of adventure. What draws you into “adventure photography?” I’ve always loved photography, traveling, and exploring new places. So I think it was kind of a natural progression, combining those two passions. More recently, I spent three years studying and then living in Northern Ireland. There was a good two years where I literally didn’t leave the house without my camera because I loved the newness and excitement of everything- especially when we ventured into the mountains for hikes and the like. I eventually got addicted to climbing as well and I’ve be hooked on adventure photography since then. I love the idea of putting myself in epic places and trying to capture the story or the ‘essence’ of adventure, and maybe inspire others to get out and explore as a result of that. As a photographer myself, some of my favourite adventure photographs are actually shots of photographers in insane places trying to get “the” shot. What’s the most insane place you have willing put yourself, all for the sake of a good photo? Why is it that the best angle always seems to be in the most tedious of places? I’ve been known to get myself into rather awkward places at times (usually
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McCabe Creek, Yukon Territory,
CANADA
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Fairhead,
northern ireland
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atop very high rock formations), but I think the most insane would have to be shooting in the subarctic in Alaska this past February. I was shooting the Yukon Quest, which is a 1000-mile international sled dog race. We were out in these extreme and remote places waiting for mushers while searching out the best shots in -30F weather. Being from Arizona, doing anything in -30F seems pretty insane! But it was so much fun and totally worth it, it’s all part of what makes it ‘adventure’ photography!
Packing all of your photography gear into places like that must be intense as well. What gear do you carry with you? What do you usually leave at home that others might get to use? Have you ever lost a piece of gear “to the mountains?” Typically, my bag consists of my trusty Canon 5d II, 2 lenses (always includes a wide angle), a GoPro, backup batteries and memory cards, and then whatever gear I need to adventure shoot as well. Sometimes I splurge and take an external flash, but I almost never travel or shoot with a tripod, I move around too much to use them! I’m notorious for loosing lens caps (in lakes, over mountainsides – you name it!), but aside from that I’ve somehow managed to avoid any gear disasters!
For me, I’ve always found that showing the scale of things to be both very difficult and extremely important. What do you do to give that “wow” factor to the scale of a photo? Yeah, scale is definitely important. Sometimes it seems impossible to make things look as exciting or beautiful in a photo as they do in real life. I guess that’s where the challenge comes in. I suppose my approach is to show as much detail of the environment as possible, and then emphasize the contrast between the subject and the environment. I love shooting wide angle outdoors for this reason. I find it really helps to consider everything from how dramatic an angle is, to searching out a foreground that adds to the depth, or even capturing the clouds, just to give a sense of the weather and add to the overall mood. I think it’s important to think about those details. When you add a person into a photo like that, you can really start to see the scale of the environment; that’s where the ‘wow’ comes in.
PHOTO CORNER: Exposing the Work of Ariel Body
Inn Pinn, Isle of Skye,
scotland
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I hate bringing up gender, but what do you have to say to all the girls out there that want to get into the field of adventure sport photography but are worried that it has a tendency to be a bit of a “boy’s game?” I think to be a good adventure photographer; the only requirement is that you have to be an adventurer at heart. If you are, I would say go for it! Photos will inevitably reflect the perspective of the photographer, so find what you’re passionate or excited about, and just start shooting it! If you see adventure or sport as something epic and exciting, your images will reflect that passion and in the end, your gender really doesn’t matter.
So far, what has been your favourite place in the world to photograph? What place are you just dying to shoot? Such a hard question! There’s something special about the Isle of Skye in Scotland. It’s almost like another world with breathtaking views and adventure opportunities everywhere you look. I have some serious love for that place. At the moment, I think it would be pretty sweet to cycle across India and have mini adventures along the way: cross a desert by camelback, explore some rainforests, kayak the Ganges, climb some epic routes, and embrace the culture along the way. I would love to shoot that adventure!
So, what’s next for you? What’s your next big adventure? I literally have no idea. Though even if I did, it would probably change anyway – that seems to be the nature of adventure! I tend to be kind of spontaneous as far as my travel plans go, but I will say that I’m pretty excited about a few opportunities I have in the works for the new year. I guess we’ll just see where they take me… Website http://www.livelaughdesign.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/livelaughdesign Twitter: @purplebandana
kayaking
palau by Stephen Lioy ( @slioy)
Tomorrow morning, after nearly a week of kayaking alone through the Rock Islands of Palau, a speedboat from the
capital will pick me up to join a group of American tourists for a day of diving. Under a sea of stars, I fall asleep as I contemplate the vastness and apparent peacefulness of the universe and wonder whether my ride will arrive as planned. As I wake with a start, the only thing that seems strange is the rat six inches from my face chewing its way through my week’s worth of food. The days are peaceful, paddling over easy seas into coves hidden from mass tourism by shallow reefs that speedboats can’t pass. Each hour, every day, my choices are limited to snorkeling through the submerged jungle of coral reefs or bobbing atop the waves in the shade of the overhanging palms. The nights, though, are full of the violence I’m forced to inflict on the aggressive jungle rats. Armed with a paddle and headlamp, I move through the light of a thousand stars bringing back human dominance to the darkness of an island otherwise left to the animal kingdom.
Paddling each morning, following the tides, the dominant feeling is being at one with the sea. The small waves push me though the channels separating limestone cliffs and past sailboats at anchor well outside the shipping lanes that guide traffic in the Pacific. I wave at a Nordic-looking family, but the waters carry me onwards before I have a chance to break their morning’s solitude with an exchange of pleasantries. Not all days remain so peaceful. Barely an hour’s speedboat ride from Koror, at midday, these islands of solitude become the playground of day-tripping package tourists. After a morning of diving the Rock Islands’ reefs, boats of mostly Japanese and American vacationers surround the beaches and disgorge passengers in a race to finish their sodas and BBQ before the next dive. Alone in a kayak, the experience is supremely different. Instead of fighting with twenty people for first look at skittish sea life in the day’s official stops, I can pause from paddling to don a mask and snorkel
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anywhere that looks promising. Whether free-diving myself dizzy, trying to make a video of a gigantic cuttlefish just off my home beach, or testing just how long two AA batteries can power a dive camera, the solo experience allows for a much more personal adventure dictated by the whims of moment rather than the day’s set schedule.
Below the waves, this truth is even deeper. With only the sound of my own breath, I float through a world of one. Later, in my memory (and back in Koror’s bars), overgrown cuttlefish swim over giant clams as I try to chase a reef shark across a sandy bottom. None of this transpired at the same time of course, but with no one else around, who will argue the point? The joy of this solitude peaks and ebbs at Jellyfish Lake, without doubt the biggest tourist draw in the entire nation. On arrival, I climb barefoot over painful rock edges that line the path to the interior of Eil Malk Island. As I drop over the ridge and into the island’s inner lagoon, two young tourists snorkel towards the floating science station. A lone researcher looks on from an inner tube nearby. Fins on and camera out, I join them in the sulfurous water. At the edge of the swarm, avoiding the occasional bloom as it drifts past is no problem. Deeper in, I find myself contorting and cavorting to avoid contact. Partly out of fear and partly environmental concern, I do everything I can not to touch these reportedly stingless aberrations. Eventually, in the thick of the group, the point is forced as avoidance is impossible. Swimming through a thousand-strong party of jellyfish is somewhere between a sci-fi fantasy and a revenge-of-the-seas nightmare. Even at a comparative crawl, they bounce to both sides as I try to press through their cross-lake migration. A bit tired but mostly creeped out by the knowledge that this really shouldn’t be so pleasant, I leave the golden jellyfish to their daily pilgrimage with the sun. Back at the docks, it is a different sort of crowd. As boatloads of life-jacketed Japanese snorkelers step timidly onto the pier to retrace my trail, I resign myself to a canned-goods lunch until their waves
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have passed. The battle for the Pacific still rages on the tourist front, and on this island- the Japanese are winning. Artifacts of the War in the Pacific appear unexpectedly throughout the Rock Islands, derelict fighter planes and ruined bunkers. Most surprising is during a paddle through quiet lagoons, hearing only the rhythmic splash alternating from port to starboard. Between the darting neon schools and gnarly coral branches, the sudden flash of a stranger’s long-lost national identity is startling. Even surrounded by beautiful solitude, it remains difficult to imagine the life of these crashed castaways.
In the early mornings and late afternoon though, I imagine myself a step closer to this reality. As the sun hangs in a perceived eternity just above the horizon, the only sign of life is the birds foraging between treetops. The only boat left in the landscape is my little lime-green kayak, and this too will fade as the sky finally drains from golden to black.
Until the arrival of Europeans, these islands were in truth as uninhabited as I try to convince myself they are now. If not for the British shipwreck of the Antelope in 1783, a precursor of both the WWII wrecks and the tourist mobs that would come after, these Rock Islands could have stayed off the maps for centuries longer. In fact, even the rats I wage a continued war against are simply the descendants of those that stowed away on the Antelope so many years ago. Those post-colonial rats, drawn to the discarded food left by interloping daytrippers, converge as darkness falls on the most human-accessible beaches. As day-use visitors leave the Rock Islands at midday, they leave behind remnants of meals and packaging of food brought in on the dive boats. While the rodent residents of these islands have grown accustomed to their daily leftovers, the garbage slowly accumulates on the island or washes into otherwise unpolluted lagoons between beaches. vagabundomagazine.com
Packing back in Koror, trying to cram a week’s worth of food into a day’s worth of dry-bag, the majority of groceries in the capital’s markets are of the canned/ bottled/preserved variety. But after just a couple of days of Chef-Boyardee or Japanese tuna, the offer of extra barbeque or rice from those same tour groups becomes a welcome break in the day. So quickly, they make a basic perspective shift from noisy nuisance to welcome guest on ‘my’ island.
Feeling the need for whiter beaches, I finally pack all of my possessions back into the kayak and make a push to the western extreme of the chain. However, halfway through the first channel crossing, my paddle snaps in two as a rusty grommet finally breaks. I hurl expletives and insults towards my boat and the water that tosses it about. But the only reply is more waves. Lacking the determination to fight on through the day’s paddle to where I expected to make my new home, I return slowly to Clam City and pitch my tent just where it had stood two hours before.
The next morning, while the world is still quiet, I consider the long push to reach the forbidden sanctuary of the Seventy Islands. Confident that one man with no ill will must surely be off the park rangers’ radar, I intend to be one of the only tourists to experience these other ‘unspoilt islands.’ I do not go, but I tell myself this is through the misfortune of failed equipment rather than a lack of internal motivation.
That evening, my fifth camping at Clam City, I sit in a faintly rocking kayak over seas of polished glass. As birds flit from nest to sky and back, the sun sinks slowly behind the silhouette of the outlying islands. Paddling slowly through the last of the faint orange light, I’m not yet mentally prepared to rejoin polite society and become one of the island hoppers I’ve come to love and loathe. Luckily,
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Kayaking Palau
As birds flit from nest to sky and back again, the sun sinks slowly behind the silhouette of the outlying islands.
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fall in northern michigan by Ash Clark ( @themostalive) www.themostalive.com
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"I took this picture just outside of Petoskey in Northern Michigan, USA. Having grown
up in Australia, where the rugged bushlands consistently remain in a hardened shade of green, I don’t think I will ever get to a point in my life where I stop giving conscious attention to the exploding colours of a Michigan Fall. If I hadn’t seen anything else on the journey, the sight of nature’s preparation for the coming winter would have left me more than satisfied."
ANTARCTICA
a Photo Essay by Dustin Main ( @skinnybackpackr) www.skinnybackpacker.com
Antarctica
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The rough trip across the Drake Passage from Tierra del Fuego, the southern tip of South America, to Antarctica is wild enough to make even the most hardened traveler bow down to the toilet bowl. For those that choose to make the journey, the rewards are spectacular landscapes, unique wildlife, and of course, plenty of ice.
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The Wildlife Most famously home to most of the world’s penguins, Antarctica also plays home to sea birds, seals, and whales among other inhabitants. The penguin, of course, is the icon of this ice desert, and carries with it a personality all their own.
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Antarctica
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The Ice For a few short months per year, the ice in Antarctica melts just enough to make a visit. Old, dark blue ice reflects in the so-blue-it’s-black waters. Giant icebergs which have melted in odd ways, violently flip over without warning. Melting and freezing through the seasons, the ice here is always changing.
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Antarctica
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The Landscapes Vast, quiet, and peaceful, often with just the wind in your ear, Antarctica is a place like no other. From rocky peaks, windswept snow fields, and the midnight sun that lights up the continent for 6 months of the year, while the other six months, Antarctic is nothing short of a desolate place.
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Conclusion For many, Antarctica starts off as another mark on a travel checklist. Once its beauty is witnessed, everyone is clamoring to go back to this formerly once-in-a-lifetime location. Maybe twice or three times will be enough, but I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.
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Ethiopia’s Past and Present Greatness
by Rachel MacNeill ( @racheljmac) photographed by Kait Keet and Pamela Robbie
Lalibela – Ethiopia’s Past and Present Greatness
“Just a little more,” the guide tells us. We pant heavily, our hands grasping the rock edge for purchase.
Putting one foot in front of the other, just to heave ourselves up the final few metres of incline, feels like a Herculean effort. The last light of the sun finally fades just as we round the bend. At the peak, the dark silhouette of a tukul, a round thatch-roofed hut, rises out of a flat, featureless plateau. After a three hour hike racing against the setting sun, we’ve reached the top of the Hudad Plateau, towering at 3,300 metres in altitude, we are looking down at over 500 dizzying metres to Lalibela town. Lalibela is a remote mountain village in the Ethiopian Amhara highlands. The village is world-famous for its rock-hewn churches, the pearl of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, and has become a destination for thousands of pilgrimages annually. After seeing the churches, we focused on finding an escape from the heavily-touristed, fully jaded and absolutely exhausting town. We end at Lalibela Hudad, a small cluster of huts perched on top of the second highest plateau in the area. This cluster is a new eco-lodge, pioneering the way for responsible tourism development in the region. Arriving, we were given warm Ethiopian sweaters and hot water for washing. A roaring bonfire was
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prepared and soup provided to fend against the highland chill. A few beers later, we’d forgotten all about the tourism exhaustion and punishing hike we had just experienced. When a troupe of villagers from the neighbouring village of Gafat ena Fenajera (partners in the eco-lodge project) came to offer us foot massages and a show of traditional singing and dancing, they insisted that this was true Ethiopian hospitality. Our visit wouldn’t be complete without at least one foot massage. Well, if you insist, then.
On waking up, I wandered around the plateau, joined by Molla Kassaw, Lalibela local and manager of the lodge. Perfectly flat and covered in knee-high grasses, the plateau is grazing land being rented from the local village residents. A family of well-habituated Gelada baboons meanders across the plain. A cluster of three tiny huts perched on the very edge of a stark cliff. Molla greets the three women wringing and hanging the hotel’s linens on a long clothesline. They come from the village, a small cluster of traditional huts visible over the edge of the surrounding cliff. He gestures to a clearing in front of a vast mountain vista. “That’s where the new school is going to be,” he says. “So the village children don’t have to go all the way down the mountain.” Gafat ena Fenajera and its surrounding settlements
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Lalibela – Ethiopia’s Past and Present Greatness
are both the raison d’etre and driving force behind Lalibela Hudad. A recent population boom has left the mountain land stripped and has put pressure on subsistence farmers to change the lifestyle that they have known for thousands of years. Modernization has created a difficult situation for families hoping to educate their children, the daily six-hour return trek to Lalibela schools has become too arduous.
The lodge’s sustainability model is simple: the 1200-or-so villagers get exclusive access to jobs and supplying the lodge with food, building materials, and locally-made goods. Revenues from the lodge are given to the village on a per-visit basis. The project is the brainchild of Mesfin Haileselasse. He came up with the idea when trying to think of ways to diversify Lalibela’s tourism beyond history bums, he says. “The lodge is filling a big gap which Ethiopia needed,” he says. “Selling its natural beauty, Ethiopian hospitality, wildlife, climate and silence in a responsible way.”
By ensuring villagers get more benefits from tourism revenues; Lalibela Hudad is trying to capitalize on Ethiopia’s most famous draw. Lalibela’s rock-hewn churches are both a major tourist attraction and are still used today as a source of national pride and worship.
The 11 medieval monoliths, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, stand as monuments to the splendor and power of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. The fact that they are still used today shows a continuity of faith and significance unparalleled in the world. Lalibela is a small valley village in the Amhara highlands, surrounded by steep slopes which end in tabletop plateaus. Relatively isolated by rugged mountainous terrain, Lalibela still attracts hundreds of thousands of pilgrims to its mysterious churches on celebration days in the Orthodox calendar.
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Lalibela – Ethiopia’s Past and Present Greatness
The history of the churches is undocumented, but the locally-believed story is this: King Lalibela set out under God’s direction in the 12th century with the goal of building a New Jerusalem. The king’s devoutly Christian subjects had been cut off from the Holy Land after the rise of Islam in the lands in between. The King was seen as a kind of saint, building the new holy city for his suffering people. The churches, possibly the largest monolithic churches in the world, were excavated rather than built. Local history says that angels worked day and night with the builders to speed the process of hauling out tons of red volcanic rock and chiseling out fine details like crosses and relief motifs.
King Lalibela’s goal was to create a place for pilgrims that would replicate the otherworldly splendor and religious connection of Jerusalem. On either side of the aptly-named River Jordan, a cluster of churches was built. On one side, the churches represent Jerusalem on Earth, with tombs of Christ and Adam and the crib of the Nativity. On the other, the churches represent the heavenly Jerusalem alluded to in the Bible. Though it is a World Heritage Site and the darling of Ethiopian tourism, the development of the Lalibela tourism infrastructure has left most mountain villagers behind. Development too often provides benefits
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to government departments and foreign stakeholders and too rarely shows locals proportional employment and financial benefits.
By including the village in Lalibela Hudad, Haileselasse says, the lodge is satisfying the growing desire of tourists to ensure their tourism is sustainable. “It’s socially responsible. When the community is a beneficiary, they take their natural warm welcome to guests and that is the basis of excellent service.” The churches being what they are, it may have been inevitable that the village is now lined with Ethiopian kitsch shops full of knockoff crosses and souvenirs. It is now a populace that sees busloads of tourists arrange with full wallets on a daily basis. Lalibela Hudad is meant to be an escape from that. It is also meant to build something by Ethiopians, for Ethiopians. “Right now, most of our tourism isn’t benefiting the locals,” says Haileselasse. “But the future doesn’t allow for that. The future of Ethiopia is eco-tourism. We want to make sure the community’s culture isn’t threatened by tourism.”
King Lalibela would have approved.
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Shutter Spot
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iranian winter blues by Katheryn LeBlanc ( @kat_e_leblanc)
"The desert city of Yazd is famous for its mud-brick old town and innovative badgir air conditioning system. In summer, this car would
make for a handy frying pan. In winter, when the air is cool and the streets are calm, the quiet energy of this ancient place comes to the fore."
Do you have a great photo you’d like to publish in Shutter Spot?
Send in your images to editor@vagabundomagazine.com with the subject “Shutter Spot” to have your work featured in the next edition of the magazine.
www.VAgabundomagazine.com/emagazines/
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In Brazilian Portuguese the word “Vagabundo” is not known to be a positive one. The word refers to a person who is homeless, broke, and likely lives and travels aimlessly. However, at Vagabundo Magazine we don’t think being a Vagabundo is such a bad thing. For us, a Vagabundo is someone who doesn’t travel by the same rules as everyone else, doesn’t stick to the main paths provided by the world, and someone who, well, wanders but with a purpose. A Vagabundo knows exactly what they are doing, they know exactly where they are, they simply don’t know where they are going. Vagabundos all over the world push the travel world by exploring new places, rediscovering old places, and blazing paths to the world unknown.
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Cycling the Continents with Steve Fabes
an Interview by Sarah Kloke
Sizing yourself up against Steve Fabes is never a good idea. He will consistently make you look bad. It’s not intentional, mind you. It is just what inevitably happens when a Liverpool native quits his job as an Intensive Care Unit doctor and journeys across the six continents. All the while, he is raising money for a charitable organization which focuses on on providing vital healthcare and emergency relief worldwide. He’s also doing it all by bicycle. So again, it’s probably best if you just accept yourself in the lethargy of second place. It’s not like we didn’t warn you.
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SARAH: This thing started at the age of 19 when you travelled the entire length of Chile with your brother. On your bicycle. Without much (any?) prior cycle touring experience. Um, are you nuts?
Steve: We were nuts, we were completely naive, we were bent on adventure. And we got one. At times, we ran out of money, food, and water. Our bikes fell apart when we failed to maintain them. All in all, it was a magnificently amateurish effort packed full of misadventures. But we learned from those mistakes and the journey was a big part of the inspiration behind my current around-the-world ride. Without that trip at 19, perhaps my choices would have been different. DECEMBER 2012 / JANUARY 2013
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After returning back to Liverpool, you completed your medical degree and became a doctor in London. Which begs the question, how does a full-time Intensive Care Unit doctor decide that it’s time to ditch the scalpels for screwdrivers and cover over 80,000 kilometers by bike while travelling across six continents? I still wonder about that! I half expected that this (pipe) dream of cycling around the world would fade from my consciousness and that I’d slowly climb the medical hierarchy like everyone else I knew without looking back - but that never happened. After a while, there came a sort of crunch point. I knew I had to make a big and tough decision, and honestly, I don’t regret it now. Although living on less than $10/day, washing only occasionally, sleeping wherever I can, and physically pushing myself to the point that I almost fall asleep whilst riding my bicycle, sometimes makes me question the logic!
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I think the crux of it was that I felt like life wasn’t enough of an adventure at home. I knew that if I didn’t follow this yearning to travel, then I would regret it for years. Now there are only a few big decisions to make and those that come up can be mulled over and meditated on,“I wonder if I should rush Mr. Jones to surgery?” verses “Wow, I wonder if that Mayonnaise will last until Tuesday?” I am no longer caught up in the tide of rapid decisions and consequences that inevitably comes with life in the city. It’s a good feeling. DECEMBER 2012 / JANUARY 2013
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Logistically speaking, cycling around the world is much more difficult than more traditional methods of air, boat, or really, any other method of transportation. How does one even begin to prepare for this kind of expedition? How much planning did you do prior to setting off? My time and effort was spent on getting some good bike gear together, fundraising for the charity Merlin and working long hours in the hospital to save money. I did hardly any training – I knew I had plenty of pedaling to do over the next five years - so why do anymore? I also kept my intended route pretty loose and I relish the flexibility to choose roads when I arrive at the junction. Looking back, there was little preparation I did that really mattered. At the end of the day, you just have to wave goodbye (the hardest bit) and pedal. And keep pedaling. Everything else will fall into place. vagabundomagazine.com
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Now you aren’t just cycling across six continents for the bragging rights. You are also raising money and awareness for Merlin, an organization focusing on health care and medical relief for victims of natural disasters, disease, and health system collapse. Why is this organization important to you? As a doctor, off on a truly global adventure, it made sense to me to help a charity which delivered medical aid worldwide. Merlin is the only specialist UK charity which responds worldwide with vital health care and medical relief. They work in the world’s most difficult and dangerous environments: in countries ravaged by civil war, blighted by drought, devastated by earthquakes and landslides. I was impressed that their teams of doctors, nurses and public health specialists don’t stop working just because an emergency is over. They stay in place until lasting health care services are rebuilt. DECEMBER 2012 / JANUARY 2013
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They are also involved in a campaign called Hands Up For Health Workers which struck a chord with me. There is clearly a huge inequality in health care across the world and in particular, the chronic shortage of health care workers is crippling many parts of the developing world. As a health worker myself, this, more than anything, inspired me to take action and raise funds for Merlin. I realized that money donated through Cycling The 6 could be used to help train health workers, and this could have a genuinely long term impact.
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From the countries you have travelled to thus far, which stick out as those most in need of assistance from Merlin? Which countries have been generally affected the most by these health care issues?
My experience when visiting an isolated region in northwest Kenya brought home just how much the work was needed. The mobile clinic was situated in a remote, arid and largely forgotten province of Kenya and inhabited by the Turkana tribe – a group of semi-nomadic pastoralists coping with drought, conflict and extreme poverty. Childhood malnutrition was one focus of Merlin’s efforts and witnessing their work firsthand helped me understand more about the impact that the money raised from my expedition was having and was a huge boost for me.
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Not all countries boast themselves as being friendly and accessible to cycle-tourists. Which countries have you found to have the easiest terrain to bike? Which have been the hardest? And in the end, which countries have made you just want to throw your bicycle in the garbage and hop on some sort of available public transportation, just like every other traveller? Europe was the easy bit: a few short months of smooth asphalt and accurate maps; relatively small and summer-holiday familiar, with plenty of cycle lanes to boot. The hardest may have been Ethiopia. This country had all the ingredients to test my mettle- lungcrunching ascents, stone-throwing children, overwhelming attention, rock-strewn roads and in the Omo valley, day time highs of over 40 degrees Celsius. It was full of surprises but was also maybe my favourite country of all. For the sheer size of the climbs, Peru
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steals the crown. Whilst there, I often spent two whole days cycling uphill, reaching altitudes five times the height of Britain’s loftiest peaks. I crossed into Ecuador fitter than ever. There were some torrential downpours in Tanzania during the wet season but honestly, I’ve never wanted to throw in the towel – part of the draw of cycling for me is the tests and trials that go with it.
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Having already covered 31 countries and over 36,000 kilometers, travelling on a bicycle has probably forced you to pack quite lightly. What kind of sacrifices do you have to make while travelling this way? Has there been anything which has surprised you about this minimalist way of moving? The most serene night was spent on the terrace of an ancient monastery overlooking the Syrian settlement of Ma'lula - a sublime view I had all to myself. In Jordan, I enjoyed pitching my tent on the top of sheer cliff faces – good for kicks, not so advisable for sleepwalkers. I have slept in innumerable churches, schools, police stations and hospitals, once in a crocodile farm, once in a water storage tank, and once memorably in a shed with a water buffalo that wasn’t too keen on my intrusion into her bedroom. I don’t think I would want to erase the memory of any of my tough nights though – it’s all part of the adventure!
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There is no way anyone could ever anticipate an experience like this, let alone predict how they would feel as they complete it. What have been your biggest struggles? What has generally surprised you about yourself as you have completed this journey? Physically, you get used to it quickly and from this perspective, it’s easier than most people probably think it is. Mentally though, is a different matter. I get lonely and I miss people. I get fed up with the constant unfamiliarity. I wish I could spend more money. I’m a terrible mechanic and so my bike not doing its job is a stressful, but inevitable part of life. In general though, I think I adapted well to a life on the move, and that surprised me. DECEMBER 2012 / JANUARY 2013
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To sponsor Steve's journey and to make a donation to Merlin, please visit his fundraising page at www.justgiving.com/cyclingthe6 and to follow the story check out his blog at www.cyclingthe6.blogspot.com
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naked views of
(
by Sarah Kloke @wheresmytbrush)
Naked Views of Mt. Fuji
Nude in public. That’s what’s happening here. I’m not wearing a single stitch
of clothing. The same goes for the young mother and toddler wading next to me. Submerged in the kneehigh tub is a pathetic attempt to wear the waters of this Japanese hot springs as a cloak. I travelled over eight hours to sit in this bathhouse. Now all I want to do is leave.
This is supposed to be a relaxing experience. This is supposed to be one of those memories I’ll vividly recall for years to come. I would reminisce with a heavy sigh and a witty quip about how this first night, sitting naked in an onsen at the base of Mt. Fuji, first put me onto a path of naturism. But really, a full removal of my hippocampus and amygdala seem the best solution. At least at that point, I’d suffer from such severe memory loss I wouldn’t be able to remember any of this happening. Having always been the girl who’d approach the locker room as a race towards the finish line of the fullyclothed, I knew this situation was far from ideal. From the minute of waking up in Kyoto, to taking the empty train to Mt. Fuji, a pit the size of an entire watermelon continued to grow in my stomach. Standing in front of a full-length mirror in the onsen’s changing room, I’m now convinced that you can see this pit protruding. It’s stretching the side of this yukata so awkwardly that I have to readjust the belt to just below my belly button.
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I’m clearly stalling. Pacing around the room, I smell every available lotion and somehow waste an entire jar of Q-tips. A small group of college-aged girls leave towards the public bathing area. I can hear the quiet giggles make their way through the communal bath towards the indoor hot springs. They have ultimately made my decision between inside and out as I turn the opposite corner to the outdoor bath. In the midst of a Japanese public holiday, the restaurant’s final dinner sitting, and a completely booked hotel, I foolishly convince myself that I’ll be the only one there. My knuckles turn white as I grip the yukata’s belt. An internal struggle with my threshold for decency versus participant experience begins. I start to untie the knotted loops. With a deep breath in, the robe falls to my feet.
I know it’s mandatory to wash yourself prior to entering the hot springs. Trust me, I read absolutely everything I could about this experience prior to even having it. The act of being naked in public is horrifying enough; I need not the added uncomfortable feeling of being scolded in my birthday suit for not adhering to the customs of the locals. I station myself on the bright red plastic stool in front of a tap and showerhead. I try not to think about the number of bare behinds that have sat here previously. Instead, I realize that this same model of plastic seating was used at that sushi joint in Osaka. Thinking about the versatility of these chairs momentarily dis-
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Comforted by the view of Fuji and Lake Kawaguchi which I can faintly make out from inside the shower. vagabundomagazine.com
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Naked Views of Mt. Fuji
Challenging self-imposed boundaries of travel reveals your tolerance levels for discomfort.
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Naked Views of Mt. Fuji
Like a dog sensing fear, the toddler gravitates towards me. She moves with the confidence of a sophomore running back that has just received his championship state ring for the second year in a row. She props herself on a submerged stone bench beside me.
tracts me from the bitter water from the tap. Dousing my head, neck, and feet, I quickly scrub myself with an unraveling white wash cloth. There’s the opportunity to bring this cloth with you into the actual bath. Some women will soak the cloth in the hot waters of the spring and then place it over their heads. I’m convinced the placement of the wash cloth, limply sitting atop my head, will make me look like an over-easy egg. Since I’ve already done enough damage to my wavering self-esteem, it stays soaking on the stool.
As typical as it may be, challenging self-imposed boundaries of travel reveals your tolerance levels for discomfort. My quick breaths and motivational self-talks in this mix of water and volcanic minerals, makes my personal limits all the more clear. Give me the heights, give me the crowds, you can even give me the jungles without a map or prescription for Malaria pills. But please, whatever you do, give me something to cover my bits. Only comforted by the view of Fuji and Lake Kawaguchi which I can faintly make out from inside the shower, I slide open the glass doors. Outside, my eyes take their time adjusting to the darkness of dimmed pot lights and bamboo paneling. The lights expose a tiny-frame of a Japanese woman. A smaller pair of shoulders splash in the mountain water’s run-off. Her mother shushes her as she babbles incoherent Japanese. It’s a child.
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Eyes focusing on anything but this pigtailed beast of curiosity, I remain intent on counting the knots and rings of the waxed tree stumps decorating the ridge of the bath. 27, 28, 29… Unfortunately, my peripheral vision remains intact and I see a tiny hand make its way towards mine. My hands lay rigid at my sides. These silly hands, I never know what to do with them. Because of this current state of discomfort, I’ve mentally added ‘public bath houses’ to the list of situations with unknown social rules for hand placement. Second introductions, funerals, anything involving a stage and an audience, all of these experiences leave me with the feeling that my palms are as unpredictable as they are impulsive and that my fingers are the size of tree trunks. She reaches for a freckle on my wrist and tries to scratch it off. I let out a quick laugh and her mother joins in. Surprised by both the movement of my hand and the unexpected camaraderie between this foreigner and her mother, she lets out a high-pitched wail. Her mother scoops her up and tries not to slip as she exits the bath. Loneliness at last.
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Editor-in-Chief Brendan van Son @brendanvanson
Head of Design Luis Alvarez @MXcurious
Columnist David Hutt @davidhutt1990
Marketing Director Jackie DesForges @jackie_travels
Columnist Susan Sharp @siouxzen
Columnist Sarah Kloke @wheresmytbrush
Columnist Ash Clark @themostalive
Associate Editor Will Peach @willpeach
Intern Lizzie Ruiz @Lizzie_Ruiz
Columnist Rachel MacNeill @racheljmac
Columnist Zach Kuehner @ZacharyKuehner
freelance contributors matt gibson
stephen lioy
www.matt-gibson.org @xpatmatt
www.monkboughtlunch.com @slioy
dustin main
Kathryn LeBlanc
www.skinnybackpacker.com @skinnybackpacker
@kat_e_leblanc
Want to Contribute???
Do you think you have what it takes to be featured in Vagabundo Magazine? We are always looking for great travel articles and photos to feature in our magazine. Head over to our website www.vagabundomagazine.com/want-to-contribute/ for more information, or if you are ready to submit something to our editorial staff already please email us at editor@vagabundomagazine.com