Voyage Issue 7 - Sustainability

Editor’s Note F

all 2019 was a new leap for us because we said goodbye to our OG members and welcomed new faces to the team. Over the span of four months, our writers unraveled their personal experiences, slowly netting out their thoughts with the help of our eagle-eyed copy editors. Then we brought in illustrators, photographers, and layout designers to make their stories come even more alive and vivid. At the same time, the management team was hard at work, planning internal and external events, rolling out blogs, and building Voyage a stronger presence.

Looking back now, the stretch of time that seemed daunting when we first assembled our new team truly flew by in a blink of an eye. I want to express my gratitude to our team members who are all doing this on a volunteer basis: guys, thank you for taking on these different roles. It wasn’t exactly smooth sailing at all times, but Issue 7 surely would not have been created if we didn’t keep each other accountable amidst our hectic schedules. I also want to thank the writers who contributed to this issue when we called for submissions --thank you for allowing us to share your stories!

To the reader of this issue, Voyage UW is not just the magazine that you’re reading right now. Yes, publishing a travel adventure magazine is what we say in our elevator pitch, but it’s more about a com-

munity of people who appreciate the environment that we live in and are passionate about authentic storytelling. Our presence may be small, but I can confidently say that the stories we tell and the conversations we evoke hold so much weight.

For this particular issue, we want to touch on climate change and sustainability not just on a theoretical level, but through the raw, personal encounters of each writer. Venice, Japan, Vietnam, Cairo, Denmark, India, Capetown, and the Pacific Crest Trail are settings that hold unique environmental perspectives you will brush up against with your own experiences.

I hope you will find these narratives encouraging, enlightening, and inspiring. While we understand that there is no magic solution to the climate crisis, we need to start seeing this reality at the forefront of our minds and not just regarding it as ambient noise. As you read about these essays that shape the dialogue around sustainability, I encourage and even challenge you to identify certain privileges and take small, gradual shifts towards sustainable living.

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Thanks for reading!

Kelsey Chuang Editor in Chief

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

Reflects on our appreciation of and collective impact on the world and explores how we can we more aware of and lessen our footprint when we travel.

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Editor’s note

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A Different Kind of Denmark OLIVIA LING

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#VoyageUW

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A Trip to the Vegetable Market with Munu Bhen ALINA CHANDRA

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Examining Venice’s Overtourism and Climate Change Battles

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Living in Cape Town a year after “Day Zero” EMMA ORIOL

KELSEY CHUANG

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Japan: Redefining Sustainability Through Tech and Tradition

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Sustainability Guide VOYAG E T E A M

SO PHIA CHAWK E

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A Rocky Boat Ride

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Photo Competition

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The Voyage Team

ANNIE TRIEU

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Human Powered JORDAN KHODABANDE

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Assessing Cairo, Egypt E M I LY T O R J U S E N

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Photo Credit: Takae Goto @takae.goto

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a flower s along the t, lined the all the miles Washington.

Washington

Human Powered Written by and photographed by Jordan Khodabande

he Pacific Crest Trail is a ribbon of dirt that stretches across the length of the United States from Mexico to Canada. It meanders through California, Oregon, and Washington among the best ecosystems in the United States – the Joshua Trees of the Mojave desert, the high mountain passes in the Sierra Nevada, and the steep climbs and volcanoes of the Cascade range. Setting out in 2017, my legs carried me 1,017 miles from Mexico to Sonora Pass, California, until I fell 30 vertical feet to volcanic rocks below. This slip resulted in breaking my left foot, fracturing the other, and tearing my meniscus. For the two years of recovery and rehab that followed, getting back on trail became my daily motive. Experiencing a loss of identity from the inability to pursue foundational passions meant honing in on daily goals and celebrating small victories - increased strength and stability in full body exercises, a low-inflammation diet, and gradual reintroduction of movement. Putting my head down and focusing on the day-to-day with unpromised healing, I found myself back where I left the trail two years later.

Since being forced off trail, I’ve grown conscious about the cumulative impact that our actions have on the environment, whether it be through single-use packaging, flying, or supporting cer-

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

T

01 Mid-afternoon snacks outside of service stations became the daily norm.

Leggett, California

tain industries. Without close control, these high impacts derive from our minute everyday habits.

How could I simultaneously implement sustainability into my own travel and experiences? Would an entire summer without the use of motor vehicles be possible? I had two options: either gather my gear and return to the trail through multiple flights along the west coast, or omit the carbon output by honing in on logistics to make biking south to Sonora Pass a possibility. Setting out with wide eyes and fresh legs from my apartment in U-District, I began pedaling south.

Amongst my three weeks spent on the saddle, I found myself navigating unforeseen challenges – the stress of narrow shoulders, riding along busy freeways, and a degree of separation anxiety developed between my bike and I. Biking south offered me everything I needed and nothing that I expected – insight and selfless help offered by strangers, community among other cyclists, regular bakeries and a strong appreciation for quiet country roads. I found myself at Sonora Pass three weeks later, darkened by the sun and ready to trade my bike and panniers for a backpack and ice axe. The pace of life on the trail is like no other – sleep, eat, walk north. I found my-

self shifting with the terrain as I devoted my whole self to continuing this northbound footpath for 78 days, watching the ecosystem, season, and smalltown populations shift in a natural progression. I found peace in the solitude of the Sierra Nevada in a high snow year, awe among the wildflowers and open ridges of northern California, and joy in the trail family I slowly inched myself north with. The trail wasn’t without humbling moments, and I grew familiar with strained muscles, full body hives, and balancing undesirable weather with minimal gear.

The contrast in these two aspects of trail fostered a sense of connection beyond self as my body carried me north. What started out as a strong sense of curiosity of a summer fueled by my own energy culminated into 2,849 human-powered miles. After 99 days, I found the end of my north, 25 pounds lighter with an insatiable hunger and familiar ache in my bones. Reaching the northern terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail represented a moment I’ve both dreamt of and dreaded – celebrating a goal I previously deemed impossible, while also mourning the loss of an interconnectedness fostered between my natural environment and those I shared it with.

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

HUMAN POWERED

“The pace of life on the trail is like no other – sleep, eat, walk north.”

HUMAN POWERED

After 2 weeks travel, I began south with tw cyclists, whom spend the nex cycling, laugh eating too mu with.

Ferndale, Cali

One of many lakes.

Snoqualmie P Washington

HUMAN POWERED

HUMAN POWERED

Riding through the Redwoods.

Avenue of the Giants, California

Vintage trail sign in northern Oregon.

Three Sisters Wilderness, Oregon.

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

HUMAN POWERED

To avoid busy highways, we took the Lost Coast alternate route. Three brutal days of climbing were all worth it.

Honeydew, California

01 L: Ascending the final climb of the Goat Rocks knife edge.

Goat Rocks Wilderness, Washington.

R: After 99 days and 2,849 miles, I made it to the northern terminus and completed my three year long-term goal.

Manning Park, British Columbia.

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

Jordan Khodabande

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Assessing Cairo, Egypt

“...and is Cairo what you expected?”

I often encountered this question during the summer months of my internship in Egypt’s largest city. Curious friends and coworkers wanted to see the image foreigners like me had of their city, but my answer inevitably disappointed them. Truthfully, I had never explicitly thought of how it would be. Possibly some vague misguided assumptions of sand and market bazaars had crossed my mind, but in the rush to prepare I had forgotten to anticipate the experience of a new city. Still, I had been certain it would be a different world from the one I was leaving behind.

The verdant French coastal town where I had spent the last year studying was a utopia of sky and sea. Blanketed in trees, the French alps came rolling into the Mediterranean where the shoreline grew cacti, palm trees, and olive trees. Menton was placid and beautiful, seemingly removed from the passage of time. But by May I had left it behind in a rush of packing and unpacking to work in Cairo for the summer.

Exiting the Cairo International Airport doors at three in the morning to see nothing but a blur of lights against a hollow black expanse, I felt an unmatched exhilaration. The contrast between Menton and Cairo was distinct from the very start.

On that first ride I took in the sun as it rose over an expanse spotted with construction or developments. The feeling of that particular wide, empty expanse became stamped into my memory.

That was perhaps the last time I’d experience such stillness in Cairo. A sprawling city equipped with the modern conveniences and frustrations of any metropolis; like a motor, Cairo never tired.

Skyscrapers, cafes, newsstands, and street vendors harmonized alongside mosques, beggars, and markets in the city streets. During soccer matches the few sidewalks would fill with tables and chairs to accommodate fans drinking coffee and shisha in the TV’s glow. Beneath their feet, an aging metro efficiently connected the immense city’s various districts - successfully transporting

some of Cairo’s 9.5 million residents. An intricate web of micro-buses and vans worked in tandem as pedestrians hailed them down from the streets and intersections.

Yet, traffic is characteristically nothing less than horrendous. With so many people the traffic jams fill tunnels and city streets which operate largely without traffic laws. This complex of subways, ramps, overpasses, and freeways have birthed what I am sure are some of the world’s most gifted and fearless drivers. They swerve, blaring their horns while speeding down the freeways only to carefully stop for pedestrians walking where fate allows. A cacophony of horns, shouts, and engines, the city never slept. Only during the call to prayer, emitted over crackling speakers perched throughout the city, did the rest fade into the background.

Still no city is perfect, and Cairo was far from it in the strict Western interpretation. Every morning, the city would wake up to a thick layer of smog from the exertions of more than 2.3 million cars.

Seeping through the gaps of my window, the acrid smell would daily fill my bedroom and lungs. Heaps of trash would fill the lots of former buildings, occasionally burning and sending smoke through my classroom windows and neighborhood streets. By the end of the summer, my lungs were a testament to health reports equating Cairo’s air quality to smoking a pack of cigarettes a day.

Lungs aside, nothing irritated me like the sight of careless littering in the streets. A businessman might purchase a candy bar and in the same breath drop the wrapper to the ground. While the government countered this norm with teams of street cleaners working throughout the day, trash still accumulated on street corners, parks, and the glittering surface of the Nile.

This description might inspire some people to write Cairo off as a travel destination. Increasing environmental awareness means more tourists feel an obligation to plan their travels around their own environmental principles. Although this might be an admirable conviction, it is often too easy to

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

Written by Emily Torjusen Photographed by Emily Torjusen

write a city off for its imperfections without considering the larger picture. As for me, these flaws are what made Cairo so incredible.

Particularly when addressing the topic of sustainability and ecotourism, it is best to keep reality in mind. As of 2018, 32.5% of Egyptians live in extreme poverty, which means that ecotourism and sustainability likely fall behind daily survival on their list of concerns. Tourists that choose their travel destinations based upon western expectations of environmental consciousness are ultimately doing a disservice to themselves and most of the world.

I say this because Cairo - despite lacking an official recycling system - managed to recycle most of its waste. In 2013 the UK sent 34% of waste to landfills, the US 54%, but in Cairo less than 20% of collected household waste was sent to landfills.

This was all thanks to the Zabbaleen, which translates to “garbage people”, a minority group of an estimated 50,000 to 70,000 people living in some of Cairo’s largest landfills. This community has supported itself by collecting waste - between 3,000 and 9,000 tons per day - and transporting it to their villages by donkey, cart, or truck. Families sort and recycle 80% of the waste using plastic granulators, paper compactors, cloth grinders, aluminum smelters, and tin processors to process the waste. In fact, their recycling process is more effective than most industry systems. After processing the recyclables they are compacted and sold for marginal profits.

Despite the magnitude of their work, it wasn’t until the summer’s end that I learned about the Zabbaleen. From the second floor of a cafe I saw an unveiled woman riding down the street on an industrial cart laden with cardboard - her painfully thin horse pulling its load alongside the cars. It was a unique sight in Zamalek. Most of the cars inching

beneath the overpass were expensive models and the area’s bars and restaurants catered to wealthy professionals and expats. Seeing this woman agilely slow her horse and leap from the cart to collect a pile of flattened boxes, I wondered what she was doing on the road that night. Later I learned that she, like the young men who navigated the streets hauling immense, tarp bags filled with trash, was one of the informal garbage collectors of Cairo.

Without them, Cairo would be completely overrun with waste in just days.

As it was, Cairo was always beautiful. Especially at sunset when the transformative golden glow smoothed the city. Under its eye, the slums, trash heaps, and dilapidated buildings become a masterpiece. Now, when I remember Cairo, I picture its innumerable cats and dogs meandering through this pleasant haze, meat temptingly cooking in shawarma shops, and cars speeding by playing shaabi music in the deepening shade. All this from beneath the green fronds of acacias, poincianas, and banyans.

Staring down over their crowns from the seventh floor, I could see everything play out in their shade. Now, it’s impossible for me to imagine Cairo References https://databank.worldbank.org/data/download/poverty/33EF03BB-9722-4AE2-ABC7-AA2972D68AFE/Global_POVEQ_EGY.pdf https://www.oecd-ilibrary.org/docserver/9789264235199-14-en. pdf?expires=1576522570&id=id&accname=guest&checksum=3D7C985356B0D66BD36ECCFF24B2B52E https://waste4change.com/taking-a-peek-of-the-zabbaleenthe-garbage-people-of-cairo-egypt/ https://www.arcgis.com/apps/Cascade/index.html?appid=7a592c49d4ea4a1c9b3ae21de0c67965 https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/garbage-city

Emily Torjusen

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

ACCESSING CAIRO, EGYPT

“By the end of the summer, my lungs were a testament to health reports equating Cairo’s air quality to smoking a pack of cigarettes a day.”

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A Different Kind of Denmark

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nterested in learning more about the intersection between business and sustainability and fascinated by the bike culture in Denmark, I chose to partake in a University of Washington (UW) exchange program at the Copenhagen Business School. Within that, I had an entire week off from school and tickets to any other part of Europe to expense, so I decided to do a farm stay through World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms (WWOOF). I have always been passionate about sustainable food systems, especially after taking ENVIR 240 – The Urban Farm, a class that was held twice a week at the UW Farm where we learned everything we needed to know to start our own small-scale farm, including the names of all of the different plant species, how to conduct a soil sample, and where to place certain plant species. I was drawn to Denmark in particular after reading about an extensive series of initiatives that the country was implementing to improve the sustainability of its food systems.

I messaged multiple farmers in the weeks leading up to the farm stay, purposely choosing places easily accessible from Copenhagen. Ultimately, I stumbled upon Bellingehus Fruit Plantation, located about an hour outside of Copenhagen. On an October Saturday, I packed my things, hopped on the metro, transferred to the regional train, and anxiously braced myself for the week to come. I had heard horror stories surrounding WWOOF opportunities, so I was pondering a diverse range of escape plans in case my experience took a turn for the worse.

Upon my arrival at the Olstykke station, my farm host, Verner, greeted me from his bright blue car with a wave. We drove through many country roads before rolling up to his cozy farmhouse. Having not eaten anything all morning, I was absolutely starving. Verner had baked a cake that resembled fruit leather from the plums in his backyard. It was sweet and tart – a surefire sign that the fruits were grown organically. He spent about an hour telling

me about his farm, the different crops they grew, and the infamous Rudolf Steiner.

Rudolf Steiner was a highly trained scientist and respected philosopher. He developed the biodynamic farming practices used by the Bellingehus Fruit Plantation. It is believed that a biodynamic farm is an integrated, whole, living organism. Within the organism, there are elements such as fields, forests, plants, animals, soils, compost, people, and the spirit of the environment. The farmers’ goal is to nurture and harmonize these elements by managing them in a holistic and dynamic way to support the health and vitality of the land. Biodynamic farms would not be where they are today without the

biodiversity cultivated on the land, both within the plants and the animals. Furthermore, biodynamic farms aim to generate their own fertility through composting, integrating animals, cover cropping, and crop rotation. Lastly, biodynamic farming offers regenerative solutions for the future while also contributing to social and economic health.

When I arrived, the other three girls who were also WWOOFing on the farm had taken a day trip to Frederikssund, the neighboring town to do some thrifting and grocery shopping. I instantly missed Copenhagen – my friends, my dorm room, the metro, and the hustle-bustle of the city. I’ve never really considered myself a city person, so I was surprised

that I was experiencing these emotions. To remedy my homesickness, I went for a long walk around the neighborhood. Is there anything that a little fresh air can’t fix?

I recalled that my farm host had told me about Lake Buresø, which was rumored to be the cleanest lake in all of Denmark. Intrigued, I decided that I would pay a visit. I made it about halfway to the lake but when I noticed that my phone was about to die.

I turned back to ensure I would have enough battery to lead me home.

On Sunday, the last day before my work on the farm began, I was determined to make it to Lake Buresø to witness its acclaimed beauty with my own eyes. After learning my lesson the day before, I armed myself with a battery pack for my phone before setting out on my journey. After walking for about 30 minutes and trespassing on multiple properties, I made it Lake Buresø. In my head, I had envisioned a Greenlake setup – a body of water in the middle, and a paved walking path surrounding it to enjoy the natural views from. Instead, it was a lake surrounded by houses, which made it difficult to navigate my way to a clear field of vision. Eventually, I found a dock. I sat and enjoyed the view. It was absolutely tranquil, with not a person in sight. The weather was perfectly overcast and gave me a lot of time to reflect on my time abroad thus far. It gave me the opportunity to be with my own thoughts, not a distraction in sight. With the autumnal colors on full blast, it was something straight out of a National Geographic calendar. It was peaceful and the perfect balance between foggy and clear.

Monday morning, bright and early at 8am, I truly began farming. The first job: brushing cow dung mixture onto the fruit trees to prevent the deer from snacking on the leaves, which kills the trees and causes a lack of fruit production for that year.

When Verner appointed me to this glamorous task, I immediately regretted signing up for the program.

However, 20 minutes in, after engaging in conver-

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

Written by Olivia Ling Illustrated by Laura Keil

A DIFFERENT KIND OF DENMARK

“It is believed that a biodynamic farm is an integrated, whole, living organism.”

sation with another WWOOFer, who was also 20 years old from Germany, I slowly settled into the rhythm of chatting between brushing cow dung onto each plant. We talked about everything from our family dynamic to past travels. Before we knew it, it was 12:30 p.m. which meant it was time for lunch and the end of my first day. Lunch was made up of leftovers that included homemade rye bread with various spreads such as mayonnaise, cream cheese, tahini, and herring.

In the afternoon, I took a nap. My body was not used to the farm schedule, specifically the wakingup-at-8-a.m. part. After briefly rejuvenating, I set out on another stroll through the neighborhood. It still felt like an absolute dream walking through the streets speckled with clusters and patches of colorful leaves. I had plenty of free time in the afternoon, so I spent it finishing school work, catching up with friends from home, and applying to jobs.

The next day waking up at 8am was not any easier but I looked forward to what this day had in store for me. After a hearty breakfast of homemade rye bread, we set out for the day’s chores. Because it was pouring rain outside, we stayed inside and slapped labels onto apple juice containers. With the apples and pears grown on the farm, they juice, bottle, and sell the liquified fruit to high-end restaurants

around Copenhagen. Despite the repetitive work, the time once again passed quickly and before I knew it, the bell for lunch rang.

On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday we pruned apple trees. This was my least favorite job we had done thus far. The purpose of pruning the trees was to remove the dead and diseased branches, while also allowing sunlight and air to filter in. The branches were thick and our garden shears were small, resulting in sore hands and fingers. Despite it being my least favorite, by Friday, I had finally settled into another task’s rhythm and was finally beginning to enjoy it.

The highlight of my farm stay was getting to stay with a Danish family and learning more about the culture. They were also interested in America and my family’s roots in Taiwan and Hong Kong, so it was a truly special experience being able to share that with them.

Another big highlight was sharing every meal with the hosts and the rest of the farmers. We would take turns cooking meals every day. It was a vegetarian household, so all the foods we ate did not include meat. It was nice not having to cook for myself every day while still receiving a hearty meal.

My favorite foods eaten on the farm were vegetable soup, garlic bread, and pear chocolate cake that my

host made for us. There is something so uniting when a group of people from very different backgrounds come together to share a meal every night.

There were jokes, laughs, and many stories that brought me closer to everyone on the farm.

I also want to highlight that this was my first time traveling alone for this long. I was really nervous going into it, especially with the prospects of living in a stranger’s home for five days in the countryside of Denmark. Overall, I never once felt unsafe throughout the course of my stay, but I endured feelings of loneliness and desperate yearnings to return to the city.

Because it was our fall break, a lot of my friends in my exchange program were doing fun trips to the Czech Republic, Norway, and Italy, among many other places. Scrolling through social media I was often met with crippling FOMO, fear of missing out, seeing them go to all of these cool places while I was stuck in a musty farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. This farm stay pushed me to not only cope with my loneliness, but also how to overcome it. Some things I did included journaling daily, both about my experience on the farm and my emotions, going for a walk outside, and staying in contact with friends from exchange and friends and family back

home.

With all this in mind, my farm stay may not have been the “life-changing experience” that many WWOOFers claim to have, but I will always look back on this adventure fondly. I am grateful for the wonderful hospitality of my hosts, to have grown as a person, and to have acquired new knowledge about farming. I valued having this opportunity to develop independence through solo travel while learning more about myself in the process. And through the many tasks I undertook, from brushing cow dung to packaging labels to pruning apple trees, I learned firsthand about what it means to produce truly sustainable food. The difference in quality and taste comes from quite literally farm to table.

A simple choice like where to buy food is a decision we can all make to produce a positive, responsible impact on the environment.

Olivia Ling

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

A DIFFERENT KIND OF DENMARK

“A simple choice like where to buy food is a decision we can all make to produce a positive, responsible impact on the environment.”

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What it means for me, a tourist Written by Kelsey Chuang Illustrated by Tammy Hu

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n November 13th, the Venice government called for a climate emergency after the city was flooded under “aqua alta,” the second-highest tide since 1966. Both Italian and international media outlets zoomed in on Venice’s landmarks and shops that were submerged underwater, and the governor of Italy declared that the city was desperately “on its knees.” I saw footage of distraught locals scrambling to pump water out of their restaurants, clips of tourists traversing carefully on makeshift footpaths, and a forlorn looking image of Venice’s famous landmark, St. Mark’s Square, covered in a thick blanket of grayish water.

The anger and distress from local residents and shop owners picked up like a tornado – they are worried not just about their private properties’ ability to bounce back from these recurring flooding disasters, but also the more threatening picture that “life in one of the world’s most improbable and spellbinding cities is becoming unviable.”

Venice had an engineering plan to protect itself from high tides. The project “Mose,” a biblical reference to Moses who parted the sea, was meant to create a massive flood barrier – an underwater stronghold made of steel – but remains incomplete to this day due to construction delays, cost overruns, and an endless string of corruption scandals.

As I took in the media coverage on Venice’s historic flooding, I was both baffled and troubled. This disaster came as a tremendous shock to me because I was just in Venice two months ago. My family and I visited this unique city during our summer vacation, along with Rome, Milan, Florence, and the Vatican, a few days before I flew back to Seattle for school. Venice in September wasn’t especially magnificent or glorious, but the city created fond and endearing memories for my family. With this fresh piece of troubling news, I was once again prompted

to pause and reflect upon Venice’s ever-increasing vulnerabilities.

I have been mesmerized by the historical, cultural, and literary influence of Venice from a young age. Long before I arrived at the city, I was enchanted by the mysteriousness of the maskfilled carnival, its reputation for being the “City of Canals” with its maze of waterways, and the inspiration for Shakespeare’s play “The Merchant of Venice.”

Stepping out of Venice’s Santa Lucia train station for the first time, the romantic image I had in mind was almost immediately washed away by the frenzied rush of tourist groups and the ear-splitting blarings of huge cruise ships. I fought my way through the dense crowd, dodging wheels of rolling luggage and fending off salespeople unabashedly thrusting souvenirs into my face. Caught by the sudden chaos, I felt disoriented and dazed, confused at how my first impression of Venice didn’t quite live up to my expectations.

I realized that I was experiencing a slice of Venice’s dismal condition due to over-tourism. Locals lament over what they call “eat and flee” brand of low-quality tourism. The younger population is leaving, and Airbnbs and hotels are replacing residential apartments. Huge cruise ships rumble into Venice’s ports and blot out iconic landmarks, brewing anxiety and distress. Some say that Venice is in danger of becoming a “Disneyland on the Sea,” painting a bleak picture of how this beautiful and delicate city is being destroyed by mass tourism.

These sentiments were undeniably hard to swallow. As a tourist in Venice, my initial reaction was to defend myself fiercely against being depicted in this negative light. I am not an invader, I asserted indignantly. I wanted so badly to disassociate myself from the shallow, consumption-based tour-

personal meaning of traveling. Now, I am witnessing the dark side of this kind of consumerism and the disastrous impacts that mass tourism brings.

Adding on to Time’s 2019 Person of the Year and young activist Greta Thunberg’s vow to never fly on airplanes with the global strike on the climate crisis, I felt confused, perplexed, and torn as a tourist. I want to believe that the carbon footprints from my flights are microscopic and barely has any effect on climate change. Should I feel guilty when I fly on airplanes? How should I embrace the complex identity of a traveler who also cares about the wellbeing of our planet?

Without intentionally digging for certain memories, images from Venice popped into my mind.

That one late evening, when the sky turned a dim shade of ultramarine blue, we took a water bus home after an exhausting day of nonstop walking.

My mom and I squeezed to the very back of the boat, where we found a spot right against the rusted railing, looking out towards the paint-peeled

“ I realized that I never really pondered the personal meaning of

traveling. Now, I am witnessing the dark side of this kind of consumerism and the disastrous impacts that mass tourism brings. ”

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

Examining Venice’s Overtourism and Climate Change Battles

ists who flock to popular attractions just to get an Instagram-worthy picture. But I realized that the continued defiance of what my actions may bring will only lead to more ignorance and selfishness in the way I travel.

Traveling abroad is considered the norm for most of my relatives and friends in Taiwan, a tiny island located in the western Pacific Ocean. My parents would frequently take our family overseas – we’ve marveled at the majestic Niagara Falls at the border of Canada and the US, treaded on the snowy mountains in Switzerland, and wandered on the cobble-stoned streets of Paris. In college, I studied abroad in the lively, playful Barcelona and did a career trek in the fast-paced London with my schoolmates. This family lifestyle and Taiwan’s position in the world – our political status and heavy dependence on international trade – shaped my positive perception of being a “global-minded traveler.”

I realized that I never really pondered the

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houses fading away in the distance. The gurgling white foam from the engine was luminous and pale, trailing into the semi-darkness.

As we chugged gently along, the soft warm lights from both sides of the grand canal fell on the water, illuminating the dark green surface with shimmers of yellow, white, and orange ripples.

Overhead, I could see a wide stretch of clouds in dreamy shades of cotton candy pink and pale lavender. Except for the boat’s steady humming and the occasional small talk from passengers, there was little noise. My mind went blank while I gazed at the steady swirls below, and I felt an unwavering sense of calmness, as though there was a tiny pool of water within me growing still and serene. The crew members coordinated smoothly with the station workers at every stop: untying ropes, removing the safety rails, setting down the walkway, ushering people and controlling the crowd. It struck me to see these workers doing – what we would consider as unglamorous and physically demanding tasks – so diligently and faithfully every day, over and over again.

I recalled another memory of Burano, an old fishing island located in the Northern Venetian Lagoon, famous for its art of lacemaking and rows of houses painted in every color imaginable. I gazed in wonder at buildings in intriguing shades of mint green, bubble-gum pink, deep magenta, periwinkle blue, crimson red, and even neon orange. Like all the tourists around me, I couldn’t help posing for pictures, feeling self-conscious and sheepish that the Burano locals’ were inside carrying out their normal daily routines. It struck me in a profound way, realizing that these multicolored houses are not merely objects of entertainment, but also a vital piece that holds bittersweet stories of the people that had grown up here.

I thought about these scenes —the marvelous, surprising, and even heartwrenching glimpses of the life here. Although my first encounter with the

city wasn’t how I had imagined, I did discover its beauty under the surface level of consumerism and photogenic attractions. I remembered the quaint apartment buildings connected by arched bridges, the maze of shops that treasure eerie but exquisitely decorated gilded masks, and the depiction of a fierce, winged lion that symbolizes the patron Saint Mark. St. Mark’s Basilica, a massive cathedral located in Piazza San Marco, was extravagant and flamboyant in its Baroque style architecture with intricate carvings, adornments, and pillars that overwhelms the onlooker. Even more amazing was seeing just how drastically different the local’s way of life is, running errands at grocery stores or visiting each other using water buses and motor boats as their main modes of transportation. While I may be a temporary visitor, being present in Venice allowed me to taste a slice of life someone else calls home.

Venice is a beautiful, living and breathing city that is worth all the attention and respect it gets.

It is meant to be enjoyed. That is why we must also protect its individuality and be cautious over how we interact with the city, especially in the wake of these urgent battles. While it is not possible for me to give up long-distance flying, it is important that I set a high bar for each trip and make sure that I

truly take time to connect with the place and the people there – making every single one of my trips count.

Every time I visit a place, I am seeing not only the attractions but also the people – their lives and stories that are so bewilderingly different than the ones I am familiar with. That is why traveling humbles me – it shows me how simple I thought life is until I am plucked out of my bubble of comfort and inserted into someone else’s storyline. In a way, traveling to a different place allows me to live multiple lives in one lifetime.

Venice’s flooding and the consequences from over tourism reveal to us the bigger picture that traveling is a double-edged sword. What was described as glamorous and boast-worthy is now seen as a reason for the Earth’s suffering. Even though there isn’t an easy solution, we as travelers should seek to be more responsible and environmentally conscious of our actions. We can coWnserve water when we shower or brush our teeth, always have reusable water bottles and shopping bags in our backpacks, and venture off the beaten path into the smaller, local neighborhoods. We can avoid having hotel housekeeping everyday, and eat responsibly by not ordering more food than we can consume.

As Voyage grapples with the meaning of au-

thentic, responsible travel through the following narratives in this issue, we hope you will consider how we can make sustainable traveling not just a lofty concept but a possibility through concrete, achievable actions we can all take.

References Povoledo, Elisabetta. “Venice Flooding Brings City to ‘Its Knees’.”

The New York Times, The New York Times, 13 Nov. 2019, https:// www.nytimes.com/2019/11/13/world/europe/venice-flood.html.

Pitrelli, Stefano, and Chico Harlan. “Flooded Venice Has Tourists Taking Selfies and Residents in Tears.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 16 Nov. 2019, https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/ europe/flooded-venice-had-tourists-taking-selfies-and-residentsin-tears/2019/11/14/c9e82db2-062b-11ea-9118-25d6bd37dfb1_story. html.

Pitrelli, Stefano, and Chico Harlan. “How Venice’s Plan to Protect Itself from Flooding Became a Disaster in Itself.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 19 Nov. 2019, https://www.washingtonpost. com/world/europe/how-venices-plan-to-protect-itself-from-flooding-became-a-disaster-in-itself/2019/11/19/7e1fe494-09a8-11ea8054-289aef6e38a3_story.html.

Kelsey Chuang

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EXAMINING VENICE’S OVERTOURISM AND CLIMATE CHANGE BATTLES

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Japan: Redefining Sustainability Through Tech and Tradition Written by Sophia Chawke Photographed by Sophia Chawke

apan is one of the world leaders in technology, innovation and also one in environmental sustainability. Often called The Land of the Rising Sun, the country offers a horizon for new technologies to emerge in coexistence with the cultural significance of the land. The government of Japan claims that the country is working towards being the first country to prove that it’s possible to grow through innovation even with a declining population. Japan is working to create the next step in human evolution after hunter-gatherer, agrarian, industrial, and information society stages, called Society 5.0. This age of human development will focus on the “vast potential of accumulating data, and new technologies of the fourth industrial revolution, in order to find solutions to social issues such as the declining birth rate, an aging population, and environmental and energy issues.” I had the opportunity to visit Japan last summer and experience this amazing country firsthand with my two best friends. Neon signs light up the streets of Tokyo. The vending machines spit out genuine, delicious Japanese food. Robots fight each other for our entertainment in restaurants. Outside of Tokyo, farmers harvest their rice. Elders climb hundreds of stairs to pray at an ancient temple.

Teenagers stop to buy snacks at the local 7-eleven.

Regardless of where you are in Japan, at the end of the day their culture rings through everything they do.

The ancient Japanese customs and traditions are still very much alive while the country is taking major leaps in technological advancement. Around the world, we are losing ourselves to the grip of technology and polluting the Earth as we do. We have lost the ways of our ancestors and disrespected the earth they once walked. Japan, however, has been able to implement technology without letting it hinder their culture or environment.

Left Page: Color and life in the streets of Tokyo Top: Sensoji Temple in Asakusa, Tokyo Bottom: The Kaminarimon, or “Thunder Gate”, entering Asakusa, Tokyo.

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Fog rolling over the hills in Nikko, Japan

Just one train ride outside of Tokyo there is a city called Nikko. An old Japanese proverb claims, “That who hasn’t visited Nikko may not use the word ‘wonder.’” The earth in Nikko is beloved.

The mountains and trees embody spirits of men, women, and the divine. Due to these spiritual connections, the people of Nikko believe that harming nature more than necessary to build temples and shrines would diminish the land’s spiritual value.

Driving into Nikko felt like a dream. We drove along the winding roads as fog rolled over the hills. I watched as the trees grew taller and taller around me. While the views of the journey were gorgeous, they were nothing compared to Kegon Falls, a beautiful waterfall somewhat hidden from the more metropolis-like parts of town. An old Japanese tradition designated these falls as a meeting point for thousands of people who venture in search of a spiritual experience that connects them with their ancestors. Access to the waterfall requires visitors to take an elevator 100 meters down. When the doors of the elevator open, there is a cold, misty tunnel. You can hear the beckoning roar of the water guiding you outside. When the tunnel finally ends and you turn to face this wonder of nature, you can’t help but smile and jump up and down (or, at least I couldn’t).

The beauty comes from the combination of both nature and culture. This waterfall isn’t just a simple landmark, but rather a symbol of history and a cultural emblem that has stood proud and tall for centuries. Similarly, not far from the falls is a beautiful red bridge that holds sacred value in Japanese culture. The legend says that this bridge was formed when a Japanese emperor asked the gods for a way to cross the river. Two snakes answered his prayers and came down to form the bridge. This bridge stands to embody the significance that nature holds in Nikko and throughout the entire country. The National Parks system in Japan works “to preserve beautiful scenic areas

and their ecosystems...to contribute to the health, recreation, and culture of citizens by promoting their utilization.” This importance of not only spiritual value, but environmental preservation combined with personal connections allows for a more holistic, unified experience that personally allowed for a deeper understanding of Japanese culture and values. Without the preservation of the environment and the cultural history engrained in it, sustainable advancement is not possible.

Japan’s national parks largely differ from conservation sites and national parks in other countries because their main goal is to preserve the environment for future generations while also providing the public with nature for enjoyment.

They do this by offering free admission to most parks, allowing visitors to physically come in contact with nature by providing a wide range of recreational activities, such as hiking, snorkeling, and natural hot springs (public baths) . All of these offerings allow for enjoyment as well as a deeper interaction with nature and spiritual beliefs. Even though I only spent one week in Japan, the values of the country and its peoples echoed through every street, every city, and every person I came in contact with, creating a lifetime of memories in a week’s worth of living.

How exactly do the beliefs of small towns around Japan still ring through in major cities like Tokyo? Mainly due to Japan’s environmental policies. In April of 1964, Japan became a member of the OECD (The Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development). The primary goal of this organization and the countries comprising it is to work with government, policy makers, and citizens to shape policies that “foster prosperity, equality, opportunity and well-being for all.” This shifts Japan’s definition of sustainability to not only refer to the environment, but how we can make connections between environmental protection, economic

Top: Kegon Falls in Nikko National Park Bottom: Shinkyo Bridge, Nikko National Park

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JAPAN: REDEFINING SUSTAINABILITY THROUGH TECH AND TRADITION

“ That who hasn’t visited Nikko may not use the word ‘wonder’. ”

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“ It truly is a borderless world — a museum without a map.”

the Japanese culture demonstrates an extraordinary interconnection between industrialization and nature. This bond translates beyond entertainment into Japan’s national parks and sustainability policy. From ancestral spiritual ties to the Earth that has since transformed into digital habitats, Japan is a truly remarkable champion for nature redefining how we view sustainability.

References

Bottom: Dawgs at teamLab borderless (Tokyo, Japan) Top: “Light Cave” at teamLab Borderless

growth, and social values to redefine what sustainability means. This redefined meaning of sustainability allows for a greater connection to the earth through immersive experiences, both directly and indirectly with nature.

On the outskirts of Tokyo, you can find a captivating, technologically advanced experiential museum called teamLab Borderless. The company itself defines teamLab Borderless as “a group of artworks that form one borderless world. Artworks move out of rooms, communicate with other works, influence, and sometimes intermingle with each other with no boundaries.” The goal of this experience is to “immerse your body in borderless art in this vast, complex, three-dimensional 10,000 square meter world. Wander, explore with intention, discover, and create a new world with others.”

It truly is a borderless world – a museum without a map. Many of the features within this museum revolve around nature. These allow for an intermingling of humans and “nature.” We get to see not only the impact that nature has on us, but the impact we have on nature, and how we may intertwine to become one. Going through the “active forest”, you are urged to run, jump, play, and interact with the enticing world around you. This area aims to teach spatial recognition and a better understanding of the world through its interplay with the body. Goals like these are evident among each of the interactive artworks throughout the museum that encourage creativity and a greater appreciation for our impact on the world. Much like the national parks, teamLab allows for a mesmerizing experience that provides both knowledge and entertainment side by side.

This harmonious balance between people and nature is evident in urban Japan’s technological world. Such as with teamLab utilizing advanced technology to replicate the natural environment, whether it’s gliding through a pond of motion reactive coy or watching a ceiling of pixelated petals,

Japan’s Ministry of the Environment, Natural Park Systems in Japan, Japan: Ministry of the Environment. https://www.env.go.jp/en/nature/nps/park/doc/files/parksystem.pdf “Who we are,” Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), 2019, https://www.oecd.org/about/ “Digital Art Museum | teamlab Borderless,” Artmo, 2019, https:// artmo.com/user/moritlbl/

Sophia Chawke

Top: “Red People in the Blue” at teamLab Borderless Bottom: “Aurora Lights” at teamLab Borderless

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JAPAN: REDEFINING SUSTAINABILITY THROUGH TECH AND TRADITION

“Technology,” The Government of Japan, 2019, https://www.japan.go.jp/technology/

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A Rocky Boat Ride

5:30 a.m.

6:00 a.m.

6:15 a.m.

I woke up to the sound of the alarm clock. I slowly opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling of our Airbnb for the weekend at Can Tho, a city in the Mekong Delta region, called Mien Tay by the locals. I’ve never been to Mien Tay although I’m from Saigon, which is just a four-hour drive away. Being Vietnamese, I can’t help but sometimes feel embarrassed that I haven’t explored Vietnam as much as my other Vietnamese friends or even foreign backpackers. When I hear about Mien Tay, I imagine chants of the signature melodic phrase “ho oi,” images of a colorful and busy floating market with the locals selling food, palm trees, and fishermen making their way out to the river every morning.

I stepped outside of our Airbnb and took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. I was extremely excited to visit the floating market of Cai Rang.

My sister, mom, and I slowly walked to Ninh Kieu harbor to meet a boatman who would take us to Cai Rang. I had mixed emotions at that time. I was excited because I finally had the opportunity to experience the floating market I’ve only ever seen through Google Images. The image of the colorful and lively floating market suddenly appeared in my mind and I was curious to see how different life was on water than life back in bustling Saigon. At the same time, I was afraid of getting disappointed (y’all know how Instagram can trick you with filters) so I tried not to have any expectations.

We met the boatman at the harbor and headed out to Cai Rang river as he started the engine. The sun was slowly rising, casting its light onto the water. It was chilly. One side of the river was full of palm trees and coconut trees, while on the other were houses, tall buildings, and hotels. Water was splashing on the sides of the boat. Far ahead were other wooden canoes with other tourists in red and orange life vests. Ten minutes passed and the sunrise guided our boat closer and closer to the floating market. From a distance, I could see the big letters “Cho Noi Cai Rang” attached to the side of the bridge to welcome visitors.

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Written by Annie Trieu Illustrated by Laura Keil

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“ What’s the cost of sustaining this lifestyle

6:45 a.m.

through the demands of tourists who find this lifestyle exotic? ”

ing. It used to be just an ordinary way of life for the locals in the Mekong Delta, and they have been able to sustain this practice because people from all over the country and the world flock here to experience the floating market.

What’s the cost of sustaining this lifestyle through the demands of tourists who find this lifestyle exotic? Has this turned into an artificial experience for them? I don’t know, but one thing I knew for sure was that these locals were just trying to survive and make a living. It’s becoming normal for these locals to expect tourists every morning.

8:00 a.m.

November 11, 2019.

We went back to the hotel. The floating market was not what I imagined or expected it to be. I hoped to see a colorful floating market just like the pictures on Google. The discrepancy between reality and Google images is old news, but I’m still disappointed nonetheless, and sad that the floating market operated based on the demands of tourism. It was a sea of tourists, myself included, wearing bright orange life vests.

Cai Rang floating market is one of the things shaping the image of Can Tho city. After this trip, I hoped to build a sustainable Can Tho, so that this lifestyle is preserved appropriately for those locals who depend on it to make a living. It can be as small as helping these boatmen and boat women replace their outdated boat engine with cleaner ones.

I was sitting in my apartment in Seattle and submitted my written proposal to Voyage UW. Hence, the reason you’re reading my story. To whoever comes across this article, don’t let this article discourage you from visiting the place. Just like any other big cities, sustainability in tourism has been an ongoing issues. However, discussions of environmental issues are becoming more prevalent in Vietnam and I’m hopeful that one day, there can be a sustainable Can Tho, where there will no longer be black smoke coming out of tourist boats and no more hard-selling to tourists, but rather a journey back to finding tranquility.

Annie Trieu

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A ROCKY BOAT RIDE

The boat ride took 20 minutes. The early morning tranquility was replaced with chatting, engine sounds, and people yelling across the boat trying to sell whatever they had on board: durian, mangosteen, ca phe sua da (Vietnamese coffee), watermelon, you name it. By this time, the sun was so blinding that it couldn’t be seen. It was beating down on the water and radiating its heat. I looked at the bustling and chaotic scene in front of me.

The small wooden canoes zigzagged through, each with a hook to clamp down on tourist boats so the vendors can try to sell fruits or drinks. I bought a cheap banh mi and some hot soy milk to start the day. Eating breakfast on a rocky boat ride was anything but peaceful. More boats arrived at the floating market. The place was packed with tourist boats.

20 minutes passed. I suddenly saw black smoke coming out from the boat engine. It was heartbreaking to look at and the smell of gasoline filled the air. Suddenly, I felt guilty to be on this boat. I was a consumer unknowingly contributing to the environmental issues facing the Vietnamese tourism industry. I felt bad that the natural characteristics of this floating market were slowly disappear-

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The Photo Competition 1S T PLAC E

Florence Sand Dunes

By Jonathon Chau

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

This picture was taken at the Florence sand dunes in Oregon. The introduction of non-native plants are slowly taking over the dunes, so groups have come together to combat them before it's too late. While the dunes are an amazing place to visit and enjoy, we must make sure we aren't leaving an ecological footprint.

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3 R D PLAC E

Ha Long Bay, Vietnam

In the sea (Amsterdam)

This is a photograph of the stunning limestone rock formations of Ha Long Bay, Vietnam that formed thousands of years ago. As it becomes a more and more popular place to visit, the sacred environment and locals are being harmed greatly mainly from water pollution.

Raising awareness and practicing sustainable travel is necessary in order to preserve the beautiful and unique features of Vietnam’s Ha Long Bay.

The Netherlands powers 5.7 million homes with the wind power they collect, oddly enough many of the small country’s wind farms happen to be in the sea. A sight to see just minutes off the cost of the countries largest city, Amsterdam, the Netherlands is a perfect example of to travel sustainably, we don’t always have to go off the grid. Instead by choosing to travel to countries who source electricity by sustainable means, we are able to reduce our carbon footprint, while travelling in our typical form!

By Aubrey Victoria Rossi

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PHOTO COMPETITION

By Isabella Nordstedt

#voyageuw

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Below are some of our favorite photos submitted under the #voyageuw hashtag. Follow us on Instagram @voyage_uw, and submit your own photos to be in our next issue!

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Featuring 1. @idanickim 2. @ding.jpg 3. @joe_wu 4. @itsjat.pnw 5. @idanickim 6. @tristanomara 7. @isaiahsuko 4

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Living in Cape Town A Year after “Day Zero” Written by Emma Oriol Illustrated by Tammy Hu

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n January 2018, over a year before I would study abroad, Cape Town dominated the world news cycle. The city had just announced a 90-day countdown until “Day Zero”: the day the town’s water stores were predicted to run out. Three years of low rainfall had drained the dams to below a fifth of capacity. Images of the dry, cracked ground and endless lines at water pumps circulated the media as four million Capetonians scrambled to cut water use.

Cape Town was turned upside down. Farmers diverted their water stores to the city, showers were limited to two minutes a person, filling pools and watering lawns were prohibited, water tariffs were hiked up, and companies started “dirty shirt competitions” to discourage doing laundry. The city even published a water usage map so that people could see how much their neighbors used. The campaign to save water was as ruthless as it was aggressive.

Thanks to these collective efforts, Cape Town cut its peak water usage by more than half in three years. The dramatic headlines fizzled out, and Day Zero came and went without a fuss. I reflected on this a year later as I prepared to study abroad there.

I had followed the drought on the news but was unsure what the current situation would be like. It seemed like the media had covered the height of the crisis then completely quieted. Feeling a little apprehensive, I arrived in Cape Town in March 2019.

I rushed off the plane and straight into a bathroom stall, where I was faced with a hand-written sign reading “If it’s yellow let it mellow”. It turns out these were a staple of Cape Town bathrooms.

Some restrooms didn’t even have soap, perhaps to discourage running the faucets. In my building, jugs of water were imported from outside the city. Pools

remained unfilled, personal water use was limited to 105 liters per day, and lawns stood proudly unwatered. Drought awareness was incredibly high, and while there was no longer a crisis, people couldn’t relax.

Even then, water conservation was not at the forefront of most people’s minds – electricity was. A few weeks before I arrived, Cyclone Idai hit Mozambique, South Africa’s eastern neighbor and power supplier. About a month later, Cyclone Kenneth reached Mozambique. Both cyclones ranked in the top five worst storms to ever hit the country. As Mozambique reeled from the estimated 1,000 deaths and insurmountable destruction, South Africa’s power supply took a hit.

In response, South Africa implemented “stage 4 load shedding”. Load shedding is a series of controlled shut downs on the national power grid to conserve electricity and prevent it from collapsing.

It is nothing new to South Africans, but stage four is considered extreme. It meant the city was “scheduled for load shedding 12 times over a four-day period for two hours at a time, or 12 times over an eight-day period for four hours at a time”1. Although most blackouts were scheduled, they could happen without warning.

This was all a few weeks before I arrived, but I was told the blackouts occurred in rotating sections of the cities for a few hours at a time. There was an app with the schedule available, which helped peo-

“Cape Town was turned upside down.

Farmers diverted their water stores to the city, showers were limited to two minutes a person, filling pools and watering lawns were prohibited, water tariffs were hiked up, and companies started “dirty shirt competitions” to discourage doing laundry.”

ple plan by charging their phones, getting flashlights and batteries, and cooking ahead of time. However, if you were caught off-guard, the sudden darkness could be jarring and disorienting. Everything would completely shut-off, clearing out entire buildings at a time if they didn’t have generators. A friend of mine, Hannah, jokingly compared it to the Purge.

Hannah, who was staying in Cape Town during this time, also told me about the unique experiences she had during load shedding. One night, she summited Lion’s Head, an iconic Cape Town attraction known for its sweeping views of the city. As she looked out at the glowing lights of the city, an entire section of it went dark. Later that night, she went to her favorite restaurant. With the stoves and ovens off, all they could offer her was a milkshake which she sipped by candlelight.

During my few months stay, I witnessed the after-

math of an entire city forced to change their habits in response to an environmental crisis. It was a difficult and forced transition under the threat of diminishing water and electricity supplies. Admittedly, coming from a more developed country, my transition also felt abrupt. I wasn’t used to limiting my showers to two minutes or paying for electricity by the watt at a local convenience store. Water and power were both things that previously were unlimited to me, and I had forgotten that these were privileges.

Even though I had to give up some minor comforts of home, I lived far better than most people around me. Cape Town is largely comprised of townships, which are neighborhoods that were formally officially designated as non-white areas.

For people in the townships, inconsistent electricity and lack of access to water is a reality of their daily lives. The experiences I speak of are from the per-

spective of a white person living in a mostly white, high income neighborhood and not representative of many other South African experiences, especially those of color.

As global temperatures rise, extreme weather events will increase in frequency, forcing communities to adapt like Cape Town did. This case study of resilience in the face of a crisis should be viewed as both an example and a warning. Shifts in lifestyle as preventative measures and not reactionary measures could avert the next “Day Zero”. Sustainable living not only reduces climate change and therefore extreme weather events, it is a better alternative to load shedding and water countdowns. Drastic, abrupt changes in the aftermath of a crisis can be avoided with smaller, gradual lifestyle shifts beforehand. I hope we gain the foresight to make changes now, before there is a 90-day deadline to do so.

References 1Eyewitness News SA

Emma Oriol

“I witnessed the aftermath of an entire city forced to change their habits in response to an environmental crisis. It was a difficult and forced transition under the threat of diminishing water and electricity supplies.

Admittedly, coming from a more developed country, my transition also felt abrupt.”

A Trip to the Vegetable Market with Munu Bhen Written by Alina Chandra Photographed by Alina Chandra

In India, the relationship between servants and employers is different than servant-employer relationships in America. In India, servants are, in many ways, a part of the family. This story is about Munu Bhen, my aunt’s cook in Anand, Gujarat. I’ve known her since I was very young. She is an incredibly loving person and makes absolutely incredible food. When visiting in August, I had the chance to accompany her to the vegetable market.

M

Steam and dust gave everything around me a hazy, bluish look. It made me feel like I was travelling through a surreal, parallel universe. This passageway between homes looked completely different from the tidy suburban streets I grew up on. It was different, and yet supported the lives of those who lived beside it equally well.

We came to the end of the living areas, and crossed a congested road. We walked along the side of the road, past small clothing shops and a store selling religious trinkets for the upcoming festival season. Then we turned the corner of a white stucco building and I spotted the vegetable market. It was arranged in a rectangular shape. Two single-story buildings formed one corner, and a bustling intersection formed the other.

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

unu Bhen and I began our journey by opening an iron-wrought gate, and turning down the small street my aunt lived on. We were greeted by a cow, batting her eyelids and languidly chewing her cud. The streets were dusty, despite having been washed clean by the monsoon rains the day before.

Munu Bhen turned to the left into a row of tightly knit living quarters. At first I hesitated to follow, for fear that I was going to step into someone’s home on accident. The homes were small brick rooms with wooden planks or tarps covering over them.

The rooms opened directly into a little walkway decorated with drying clothing. I peered around and saw glimpses of life: a woman washing pots, a dog napping in a patch of sunlight, a man stirring a massive pot of julab gamun, syrupy sweet breaded balls.

vegetable we bought came from a different person.

Each vegetable had its own unique journey. By American standards, we had bought only a small quantity of each vegetable. This was because Munu Bhen was only shopping for the next day or two. It is not customary to buy in bulk, or have any of one’s vegetables wither in the refrigerator.

The best part of traveling in India is the food.

And within this country of so many delightful foods, it is the simple home cooked vegetables that are my favorite. But why should vegetables cooked in India be better than Indian vegetables cooked in America? It comes down to freshness- when your food is bought from the market in the morning and cooked and eaten in the evening, it just tastes different. Food there is almost always fresh and seasonal. When visiting, relatives asked me, what types of vegetables do you like? One of my replies was usually, “Jackfruit.” And I was at first surprised by their response, “That’s too bad, it’s out of season”. It is so rare for an American to say, “we can’t have that, it’s out of season”, because here in the States, we can get whatever food we want whenever we want it. But in India, it is a norm to buy one’s vegetables everyday from a local vendor, and to cook only that which is available at a given time of year. Part of this trend of seasonal eating is due to lack of refrigeration ability by farmers. From an American perspective, this seems like a really bad thing, but the results of it in India are quite positive.

My beautiful trip to the vegetable market with Munu Bhen got me thinking a lot about the different patterns of food consumption in India versus

the United States, and I started to wonder, what can we learn about food sustainability from India? In America, we eat the same foods pretty much yearround, and our foods are from all over the world.

The New York Times reported that “more than half of the fresh fruit and almost a third of the fresh vegetables” in supermarkets is internationally imported¹. There are many enjoyable benefits to this style of living, but what are the environmental impacts of eating food out of season and from the global market? Transportation accounts for 11% of greenhouse gas emissions from food². Although this is not a very high percentage, it still can be reduced by local consumption. In addition, little to no research has been done on the environmental impacts of eating seasonally or specifically eating food from the global marketplace. It is one thing to be in Seattle, eating non-local dairy from Wisconsin, but it’s another thing to be in Seattle eating grapes from Chile. Eating food from across the globe increases greenhouse gas emissions used in transportation. Food eaten out of season has to be stored for long periods of time, which increases the amount of energy used in its production.

When I came back to America after traveling around India, my mouth was in mourning. But it was not only my mouth that was experiencing a bit of reverse culture shock. I was very conscious of the stark contrast between my shopping cart at Trader Joe’s and my marketplace walk with Munu Bhen: My cart was full of food to last me for the next two weeks, and each vegetable was wrapped with a layer of plastic or cardboard packaging.

“But why should vegetables cooked in India be better than Indian vegetables cooked in America? It comes down to freshness – when your food is bought from the market in the morning and cooked & eaten in the evening, it just tastes different.”

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

A TRIP TO THE VEGETABLE MARKET WITH MUNU BHEN

I followed Munu Bhen through the first row of the vegetable market. I trailed a few steps behind her, captivated by the brightly colored vegetables all around me. Each seller had a little patch of ground, about 4 ft by 3 ft in size, covered by a cloth or a tarp, upon which there were two or three different piles of vegetables. Some of the vegetables I recognized, but many were foreign to me. It was a visual feast.

Within a single pile of bitter gourds, I saw a thousand different shades of green. A mound of chilies formed a verdant forest hill.

We stopped at many different sellers. Munu Bhen bent down and felt the produce with an expert’s touch, rolling it over in her hand, giving it a soft squeeze, and if it passed her examination, she told the vendor how many kilos we wanted. Each vendor had a distinct style of handling his or her wares.

There was a dainty woman selling tomatoes and cucumbers. She sat back on her haunches with one knee upright and the other tucked underneath her faded magenta sari skirt. With her right hand, she gestured to one tomato and then another, seemingly pointing out the admirable traits of each, highlighting their bright hue or firm feel, encouraging us to buy. The man selling green beans created a controlled vegetable tornado. When we stopped at the green bean seller, there were about three women all ordering vegetables at once. The man created a whirlwind of motion, tossing beans onto the scale, and elegantly packing up beans and taking new orders all at the same time.

As we walked through the market, we accumulated a large collection of vegetables. Almost every

A TRIP TO THE VEGETABLE MARKET WITH MUNU BHEN

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

A TRIP TO THE VEGETABLE MARKET WITH MUNU BHEN

running along its side. And the last one I could identify was the Blue Hubbard, with its gray-blue skin and smooth feel. Just like in India, there were many foods that I didn’t know the names of: innumerable new types of winter squashes, each with their own unique texture pattern and tone, and more heritage apple varieties than I knew existed. But these were not foreign foods. No – these were foods local and native my home state! Mountains of beautiful produce surrounded me on either side, and as I walked I thought yes, if eating seasonally and sustainable foods means seeking out this beautiful assortment of produce, it is possible, probable, and pleasurable. Wherever you procure your foods, I challenge you to seek out and appreciate the products of our home region and appreciate them.

References ¹Karp, David. “Most of America’s Fruit Is Now Imported. Is That a Bad Thing?” The New York Times, March 13, 2018. https://www.nytimes. com/2018/03/13/dining/fruit-vegetables-imports.html. ²Weber, Christopher L., Matthews, Scott. “Food-Miles and the Relative Climate Impacts of Food Choices in the United States.” Environ Sci Technology, 2008. http://pubs.acs.org/doi/pdfplus/10.1021/es702969f

Alina Chandra

ISSUE 7 SUSTAINABILITY

So I asked myself, is it possible to practice the sustainable eating practices I witnessed in India here in America? In some ways, it may be harder. In America, middle class individuals don’t usually have cooks who can shop fresh for them each day. And we don’t have fruit and vegetable sellers hawking their wares on street corners. We are so accustomed to eating non-seasonally. And perhaps most importantly, a lot of people don’t know how to cook from fresh produce and bulk goods. Despite all this, I think that it is still possible for us to improve the sustainability of our eating.

This journey starts by learning to appreciate the beauty of seasonal, local, non-processed foods. The University District Farmers Market definitely feels different than the small vegetable market in Anand, Gujarat, and yet, as I walked through for the first time in early November, I was struck by the same sense of wonder that hit me at the market with Munu Bhen. The morning was crisp and fresh, and had all the energy of a bright fall day. It was 9 a.m.

The market was just opening, but it was already bustling with people. The first stall that I saw had a display of winter squashes that captivated me. It was like a rainbow of squash. There were the dark kabochas, with gently rolling dark green skin, an their trademark white stripes. There was the simple acorn, with its elegant pointed shape, smooth and defined ridges, and color that faded from green to orange.

There was a bright splash of pinkish orange color from the monstrous Hubbard squash and the Candy Roasters. Then there was the oblong yellow and white delicata, with dark green highlighting stripes,

Editor Picks: Sustainability Guide Written by the Voyage Team Illustrated by Laura Keil

Here are a few things you can do or keep in your bags to travel a bit more sustainably.

1

Take as few flights as possible. Within a country, travel by train, and use public transportation in cities rather than taxis and Ubers. If there’s a good metro system, it can be an excellent way to get to know a city. When you do need to book flights, select nonstop ones as much as you can – most emissions are released during takeoff and landing.

2

Bring your own water bottle and silverware. You’ll never need to use plastic for your takeout, and they are easy to wash on your own while traveling. Camping silverware is available that has a fork, knife, and spoon all in one utensil if you’re tight on space.

3

Keep an empty tote bag in your suitcase for any shopping you do, from malls to open markets. You’ll save on plastic and reduce the waste you have to deal with when you’re ready to head home.

4

Consider changing up your toothbrush and toothpaste for something more sustainable. There are recycled plastic toothbrushes, compostable bamboo ones, and other options where you’ll just change the head of the toothbrush to reduce waste. You can also use tooth powder for a zero-waste version of toothpaste. Making sure you bring your own toothbrush also reduces the hotel or hostel’s waste.

5

6 If you’re a person who menstruates, switch to a DivaCup or reusable pads to cut down on consumable waste while traveling. You also won’t have to buy anything if you have an emergency on the road!

Grab some refillable shampoo bottles on your next Target run and fill them up for your trips. Additionally, you can fill them with leftover shampoo from the small bottles you get at hotels – if a bottle is half used, staff usually has to throw it out, so you’ll be saving some perfectly good product.

The Team Voyage is made of 24 UW students passionate about writing, drawing, photographing, and traveling. Although we come from different majors and harbor distinct hobbies, we have all found solace and excitement in telling personal stories that shatter stereotypes, embrace differences, and reach beyond the bubbles of comfort.

Kelsey Huang

Jamie Brown

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Rosie Sun

Kristian Whittaker

Roshani Ravi

Olivia Ling

Katie Yang

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M A R K E T I N G & O U T R E AC H

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W E B D E V E LO P E R

Evelyn Hyde

Anya Watson

Diego Lingad

Peyton Pedrozo

Sophie Chawke

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Emma Orial

Alina Chandra

Cynthia He

Bridgette Chen

Evita Wijaya

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Johnna Bollesen E D I TO R

Laura Keil

Tammy Hu

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Jayce Knerr

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