Despite its small size and remote location in the southwest Pacific Ocean, New Zealand boasts diversity of all kinds and is exploding with culture, innovation, and beauty. Although today most of its inhabitants are of European descent, its Maori culture shines through, as well as the influences of recent immigrant groups. Additionally, while New Zealand is incredibly developed, with populous cities, it still has incredible geographic diversity. A traveler can find mountains, marshes, valleys, and coastal cliffs all without leaving a single island. The preservation of New Zealand’s nature is a testament to its people’s dedication to maintaining a balance between technological innovation and preserving the climate. Any traveler there will enjoy the best of both worlds and get a taste of a life unlike any other.
Trapped in Time: Antarctica’s Secret Blood Falls
With technology advancing at a record pace, few wonders remain that puzzle scientists. However, deep in the frigid tundra of Antarctica lies one marvel that has attracted photographers and skeptics alike.
Antarctica’s Blood Falls. arielwaldman. CC BY-NC 2.0.
In the Taylor Valley of Antarctica lies a mighty natural wonder called the Taylor Glacier. Although a spectacle in and of itself, the glacier is only an opening to an even more magnificent miracle. Sandwiched between Taylor Glacier and the underlying bedrock is a “lake” that leads to a “waterfall” known as Blood Falls. The spectacle earned its name due to the deep, murky red color of the water; the glacier releases a beautiful, bloody fountain where it has burst open. Photos of the site capture winding streams of water, which are painted with endless stripes of crimson and cream, flowing over the rocky landscape.
Geologist Thomas Griffith Taylor, for whom the Taylor Valley is named, first discovered the Blood Falls on a voyage in 1911; he was alarmed by the scarlet hue spilling from what is normally a monochrome, colorless landscape. For the remainder of the 20th century, explanations for the vermilion wonder came up short. It was not until 2015 that scientists finally concluded that the waterfall’s maroon color is due to the presence of iron oxides. Cracks in the glacier expose the iron to oxygen, causing it to turn red in the same way rusting bike spokes produce a brick-red hue. Previously, the long-standing theory for the coloring had been the presence of reddish algae, although the theory lacked sufficient evidence.
Taylor Glacier. Mike Martoccia. CC BY-SA 2.0.
However, Blood Falls still presented two seemingly insurmountable scientific dilemmas: how did the water get there in the first place, and why did the water not freeze under the weight of an enormous glacier? Luckily, researchers at the University of Alaska Fairbanks soon answered these questions: water channels brought it from an underground reservoir, and the heat released from the freezing of the glacier kept the lake in a liquid state.
In addition to the striking red color, researchers found the water to be very salty, but the source of this brine truly stumped scientists.
The team applied radio-echo sounding, the use of sound waves to measure the location of a distant object, to construct an extensive map of underground water channels. They concluded that the brine reached the falls through the channels after about 1.5 million years. The “lake” from which the brine is sourced was found to sit underneath the glacier, and has slowly absorbed iron from the bedrock. The brine seeps into the ice due to the high pressure of the glacier’s weight. Researchers concluded that the concealed lake never froze over due to the heat produced from the process of glacial freezing.
Finally, scientists stumbled upon a remarkable discovery: the lake houses microbial ecosystems that live off of sulfate in the water’s oxygen-depleted environment. The presence of the ecosystem gives scientists a vital clue to the processes of Earth’s early life forms, and provides a picture of what life could be like on oxygen-depleted planets.
To the untrained eye, Antarctica’s Blood Falls may appear to be just another facet of Mother Nature’s artistry, but any digging quickly reveals a complicated puzzle that scientists are still working to piece together.
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VIDEO: Antarctica
Ella Nguyen
Ella is an undergraduate student at Vassar College pursuing a degree in Hispanic Studies. She wants to assist in the field of immigration law and hopes to utilize Spanish in her future projects. In her free time she enjoys cooking, writing poetry, and learning about cosmetics.
Feline Fun: Japan’s Cat Culture and ‘Cat Islands’
It is always a pleasure to watch a cat prancing through the neighborhood or a skittish kitten darting for the bushes. But one country, Japan, has completely dissolved the line dividing feline and human interaction.
Cat cafe in Japan. nyxie. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
Most people, if asked to name something from Japanese pop culture, would name the “Hello Kitty” cat cartoon as one of their top answers. As popular as the character has been with children across the world, a bustling cat scene exists within Japan itself entirely separate from Hello Kitty.
Japan’s residents hold a lengthy history of interaction with their feline friends. Cats were originally an invasive species introduced to Japan around 500 A.D. The creatures soon proved their worth by managing the islands’ rat population; the silkworm industry was being devastated by pesky rats, so the nation’s cats jumped into action. Over 1,000 years ago, wealthy members of Japanese society owned cats as pets. Evidence of cats in Japanese history can be found in literary works and paintings, many of which are hundreds of years old. The country’s oral history also contains many tales of worship for the cherished creatures.
Beyond being pets, cats in Japanese culture are an integral part of social interaction. “Cat cafes” have recently blossomed in Japan’s cat culture, allowing owners to mingle while their beloved friends wander among other felines.
While a stray cat is a common sight on any island of Japan, about a dozen islands have been dubbed the “Cat Islands” for their particularly dense population of felines. Two of the most popular are the islands of Aoshima and Enoshima:
Aoshima Island
Crowd of cats on Aoshima Island. 暇・カキコ. CC BY-SA 4.0.
Aoshima Island, located in southern Japan, boasts a human to cat ratio of 1-8. Cats were originally brought to the island to manage the rat population, but now they enjoy flashy media attention as internet sensations. The cats have become increasingly popular with visitors seeing viral videos, so an interactive feeding area has been installed. The cats have now become accustomed to interaction with strangers and will gladly show affection for a bit of food.
Enoshima Island
Cat on Enoshima Island. tokyofortwo. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
Enoshima Island is a small island just over an hour south of Tokyo. The island’s human population is minuscule compared to the population of cats; there are only about 100 human residents among over 600 cats. The island draws many visitors for its Shinto shrines, which represent a religion that does not believe in the killing of cats. The island also houses a busy fishing industry, which has proven to provide plenty of nourishment for furry residents. Thus, the island’s cat population has bloomed.
Japan’s feline friends have embedded themselves in the nation’s history and culture, and their lofty position in society appears to be secure.
Ella Nguyen
Ella is an undergraduate student at Vassar College pursuing a degree in Hispanic Studies. She wants to assist in the field of immigration law and hopes to utilize Spanish in her future projects. In her free time she enjoys cooking, writing poetry, and learning about cosmetics.
10 Remote Destinations to Visit After COVID-19
Where will you travel in the post-COVID-19 world? Choose among these remote and isolated destinations around the globe, where you can find adventure in safety. From Canada to the Faroe Islands to Namibia, find open seas, mountains and vast sand dunes to explore without crowds.
Read MoreWhat Makes Bhutan So Happy?
Meet the country which prioritizes the contentment of its citizens before everything else through its “Gross National Happiness” program.
Bhutanese children. r y _ _ _ _ . CC BY-NC 2.0
Imagine a country hidden away from the rest of the world. Tucked in between China and India, the world’s most populous countries, little Bhutan rests at the base of the Himalayan mountains. The rural country long ago made the decision to close off its borders to most tourism in hopes of preserving the nation’s unique Buddhist culture and the identity of its 740,000 people. In 1974 the country gradually reopened, though the Bhutanese monarchy was reluctant for the nation to be connected with the rapidly urbanizing world. Bhutan could not be completely isolated for long due to globalization, and in 1999 internet and Wi-Fi were quickly introduced. Being alone for so long, Bhutan was innovative in ways that made sense for its culture and ecosystem.
Dochula Pass. Göran Höglund (Kartläsarn). CC BY 2.0
Bhutan is unique in its location and recent connections to the outside world, but it’s the traditions and customs within Bhutan that really make it a sight to behold. Even during the age of colonization and imperialization, Bhutan was never colonized. The country’s official religion remains Vajrayana Buddhism, a deity-dense, merit-based and karma-focused faith implemented into everyday life and routines.
Bhutan Buddhist monk sand art. John K. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
Dance of the death god. jmhullot. CC BY-SA 2.0
Ecology is everything. Bhutan is the only carbon negative nation in the modern world, absorbing three times more carbon than it produces. In light of climate change, that feat is revolutionary. Its government has established laws that require Bhutan to always have its area 60% covered in forest lands. Keeping in mind its minimal carbon footprint, Bhutan is still vigilant about tourists who enter the country, always prioritizing the preservation of the nation’s cohesive identity. The tourist industry is nationally regulated, making it expensive and difficult to travel to. Documents and visas are issued by state-appointed companies and provide visitors with everything, including hotels, insurance and most importantly a guide who must accompany travelers at all times.
Ecology is everything. 360around. CC BY 2.0
Ecology and tourism are not the only things the government has taken to regulating. Bhutan is once again unique in national policy, measuring its nation’s happiness. Outsiders like to say that Bhutan is the “happiest country in the world” and the statistics given by Bhutan back up this claim. In 2015, the annual extensive survey that gauges the nation’s happiness concluded that 91% of its population was happy.” The Ministry of Happiness measures the contentment of its population with “Gross National Happiness” (GNH).
King of Bhutan. Bhutan-360. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
Ex-Prime Minister Tshering Tobgay defined it as “a developing philosophy that acknowledges that economic growth is important, but that growth must not be mindless, but sustainable.”
Much like a country’s gross domestic product, GNH is considered important. Established in 2008, the Gross National Happiness Commission was appointed to take into consideration and care the inner peace of Bhutan’s people. Broken down into four pillars, nine domains and 72 indicators, GNH is a difficult concept to comprehend. The country’s leaders take into account how happy its people are in every aspect of life: governance, health, education, living standards, culture, ecology, time use and psychological well-being.
Tobgay breaks Bhutan’s complicated process down to three components: the key to happiness is security, identity and purpose. These things are not mutually exclusive; they reinforce one another in every direction, both on an individual and a national level. He says that, “The government has a responsibility to ensure the whole nation has individual pursuit of the keys to happiness.”
Temple overlooking the Himalayas. Jean Marie Hullot. CC BY-SA 2.0
The Bhutanese are often misunderstood. Outsiders often believe that just because they have GNH, it automatically makes them the happiest country in comparison to all others. They have free health care, free education, clean air, a thriving environment and a strong sense of community. But Tobgay argues that the Bhutanese still struggle because that is what it means to be human. Bhutan is a “real country with real people, and real desires.” Although every person may suffer from inner turmoil for whatever reason, the Bhutanese should be happy knowing that they have been given the keys to happiness.
Yuliana Rocio
Yuliana is currently a Literature/Writing major at the University of California San Diego. Yuliana likes to think of herself as a lover of words and a student of the world. She loves to read, swim, and paint in her free time. She spent her youth as part of a travel-loving family and has grown up seeking adventure. She hopes to develop her writing skills, creating work that reflects her voice and her fierce passion for activism.
10 Isolated Travel Destinations in the US
Thinking about your next trip once the pandemic eases? This year, try one of these remote spots where isolation will be the theme. From Maine to Montana, explore nature free from crowds.
Read More
A sunrise view. Nils Nedel. Unsplash.
Ready to Travel? An International Guide to Which Countries are Welcoming Travelers Now
Around the world, countries vary in terms of their travel restrictions. Most of South America bans all foreign travelers from entering, while Europe is opening up but has a ban on travelers from the US. Here is a worldwide guide to where you can go and not go.
One of New Zealand’s many picturesque landscapes. Oliver Lee. CC0.
7 Whimsical Outdoor Adventures Sure to Pique Your Interest in New Zealand
From natural wonders such as glowworm caves and geothermal pools (considered Maori sacred waters) to whimsical spots such as Teapotland, home to a garden of 1,200 quirky teapots—New Zealand will not disappoint.
Read MoreBloom: Japan
In April this year, director Julian Lucas went on holiday to Japan - his camera came with him.
The result is the film Bloom.
He discovered a peculiar sense of quiet, desolation, and loneliness among the people.
In a country so packed with lights and trains and crowds and experiences, from the theatrical to the serene to patently bizarre, Bloom captures this lovely dichotomy between the people and the cities they inhabit. Inside the noise and the chaos, Julian captures people alone, wandering the streets, buried in telephones - a dull, menacing and peaceful nothingness below the surface.
What’s most inspiring about the footage is the way that it doesn’t struggle or form its way into any kind of narrative - Julian just lets the film be exactly what it is. But in that loose process, which is unlikely an accident, there’s this dizzying repetition that tells us something quite profound about Japanese culture. The score, too, by Matt Hadley, dances with the vision. At times intense and jarring, edited cleverly to interplay with the captured audio. At times serene and beautiful, with layered synths and string lines that dance softly up and down the keyboard.
“I wanted the soundtrack to be it's own character,” says Julian. “I wanted the viewer to be as audibly stimulated as they are visually. And I wanted sounds from the real world to contribute to the rhythm and pacing of the piece.”
Ima Keithel | North-East India’s Women-only Market
I decide on the Ima frying whiteish dough balls over a stand-alone stove and gas canister. ‘Aloo,’ she smiles and gestures to the wooden bench next to a young man slurping a leafy soup. Seconds later, this plump woman serves me a lunch of grilled fish, unidentifiable green veg, those fried potato balls, banana leaf, rice, and then, despite my protests, several second helpings.
The Imas are lined up behind their gas stoves, enticing the locals with their jokes and salty fish dishes. Sitting opposite, in front of stacked ceramic pots, are two more, warming their hands over the burning embers of a square metal pot. My host, Suporna Devi, is one of over 4000 women who congregate daily, in Ima Keithel, Manipur’s main market, selling everything from temple paraphernalia to locally-caught eels.
But, unlike the rest of India, here men are forbidden from trading. Passed down the generations, a stall at Ima Keithel, meaning ‘Mothers’ Market’, is highly coveted and provides the local Imas with an important source of income. Spilling out of the market buildings, encroaching on the roads, under the concrete flyovers, women are everywhere, selling produce. Some are eating, some reading, some sleeping. Many are chatting.
Believed to date back to the 16th century, the origins of Ima Keithel are unclear. Sandwiched between Myanmar and the Indian state of Assam, Manipur has long been forced to fight the Burmese and Chinese to retain its autonomy. A forced labour system, called Lallup Kaba, sent the men far from home to fight these wars, leaving the women at home to cultivate the land and sell the produce, possibly fostering this peculiar phenomenon.
For thousands of years Manipur remained an independent kingdom and a crossroads of trade and cultural exchange until it was conquered by the British in 1891. The golden, oval valley fringed by misty blue hills was famously called ‘the Jewel of India’ by India’s first prime minister. It is home to a diverse mix of tribes, who ethnically share more with groups in Burma than with the rest of India. Several hard day’s travel from Delhi, Manipur feels like a faraway land compared to India I’ve come to know; somewhat familiar, but yet not. A unique language and alphabet add to my disorientation.
The two large market buildings sit in the commercial heart of Imphal, a dusty, grey city, home to as many motorbikes as people. Mornings see the city enveloped in a heavy, December mist, which she usually manages to shed by lunchtime. Most ladies are sitting under bright shawls: many baring two pale vertical lines on their foreheads, meeting on the nose: the mark of local Hindus. I feel the weight of eyes as I circle the floor. But smiles are soon reciprocated with smiles, and many proudly remove their glasses to strike a poise for my camera. Before long, I fall foul of the sly sales pitch of an unassuming mother and daughter. Several tea-towels later, I note to myself this is still India.
When I reach Suporna Devi’s stall, I am thankful for the rest, and we are soon conversing, in a broken fashion, through Hindi, her third language. She has worked here for over 20 years, she tells me, inheriting the pitch from her aunt. Pointing to a poster, emblazoned with hammer and sickle, she exclaims, “this is not just a marketplace, but also a place of protest!”
The revolutionary slogans spray-painted to the outer walls point to a more complex story, and I have started to research Manipur’s matriarchal society. Since at least the early 20th century, the Manipuri women have been wielding a strong influence over political and social matters of the state, with Ima Keithal at the centre of the movement. The market developed as a place not only of trade, but as a centre for gathering, a source of the latest news, a place to discuss ideas. The mothers of Ima Keithel started credit unions, lending to women who wanted to started businesses, and mentored them in the process.
As she ladles yet more rice onto my plate, Suporna suggests I visit the Nupi Lal (Women’s War) monument in another part of central Imphal. This is a memorial to Imas who fought the British rulers in the 1930s over attempts to export local rice to British battalions in other territories. Locally rice became scarce, the price spiralled and the Manipuris began to suffer. The Imas protested, peacefully, but were met with attempts to sell the market buildings. They refused to relent and eventually military and police forces were unleashed against the unarmed females. Although the export policy was eventually repealed, many women lost their lives in the struggle.
During the Second World War, Manipur became a battleground for the war between the British and Japanese: this part of India is scarred with war graves. With the independence of India, a ravaged Manipur was absorbed into the new country, unleashing a seemingly indefinite cycle of violence and insurgency as anti-Indian and ethnic groups fought over differing visions for the state’s future. From 1980 until today, most of the state has been classified as a ‘disturbed region’ by the Indian government, a ruling designed to give the Indian Army additional powers to help them maintain public order. In practice, it has granted them immunity from prosecution for a range of heinous crimes.
Despite the departure of the British, for the Imas of Manipur, the oppression continues and their imaginative responses evolve. From torching liquor stores and fining drunk men, to protesting, naked, outside an Indian army base against a case of rape and murder by the armed forces, their actions are undoubtedly radical in a country where the majority of women have little say in domestic or societal affairs. Today, they are continuing to hold out against the talons of globalisation: recent attempts by the local government to replace the market with a modern supermarket were derailed by round-the-clock sit-ins by the Imas. Again they succeeded.
After a few days of loitering around Imphal, chatting and drinking chai, I decide it is time to leave the Imas. Several check where I am going, who with, and most importantly, have I eaten yet? I gesture to the fish section at the back of the market and they nod approvingly. After my last meal, I ask Suporna if she enjoys her work in the market. She smiles and says, “This is not just my work. This is my life.” I tell her I am leaving. “Vapis ana,” (come again) she says, and goes on frying her potato balls. I heave on my backpack and head for the bus.
How to get there: I took the bus from Guwahati, Assam. It was an uncomfortable, although beautiful journey that crossed through the hills of Nagaland on the way. There are also direct flights from Delhi, Calcutta and Guwahati. Imphal makes a convenient stop if travelling overland from North-East India into Myanmar through the recently opened Moreh-Tamu border crossing.
Where to stay: The Hotel Nirmala has decent rooms starting at 850 INR. Aheibam Homestay is a good budget option.
Where to eat: The stalls of Ima Keithel, of course. And the Luxmi Kitchen does a mean thali.
Eileen McDougal: After a decade working in London, Eileen swapped flashy buildings for a notepad and camera and set off for Asia. She fell in love with India, and it was here she started to write about her travels and the culture she was becoming immersed in. She is at her happiest on a bus alone heading off to somewhere new but seems to spend most of her time near mountains, mainly the Himalayas.
VIDEO: Nepal Times
James Baker took this video to portray his adventures in the mystical land of Nepal. The video shows a cross-section through jungle, city, and mountains in Nepal.
Searching Japan's Ghost Island
Hashima (“battleship” in Japanese) Island is a 16-acre abandoned island about 10 miles off the coast of Nagasaki. With crumbling concrete buildings, abandoned undersea coal mines and a dramatic surrounding sea wall, the island is an eerie testament to Japan’s period of rapid industrialization. It is also a stark reminder of its dark history as a site of forced labor during World War II.
Threads of Hope and Beauty: Capturing the Resilience of Life and Culture
For more than two decades, through the lens of my camera, I have sought out the hope and beauty woven into the fabric of all life and all peoples, from forest to ocean. In the face of the myriad unrecognized plights and urgent truths of our shared human and planetary condition, these shimmering threads promise change.
Images / Words © Cristina Mittermeier / Words © Kim Frank
National Geographic photographer and co-founder of SeaLegacy, Cristina Mittermeier, releases her new book this month, Amaze, published by teNeues. An intimate collection of over 25 years, Amaze combines impassioned poetic storytelling, indigenous wisdom, and an urgent plea to protect our planet. Amaze takes you on a insightful and hope-filled journey where the human spirit lifts from every page. Here is a glimpse into the book’s luminous world.
Ta’kaiya Blaney, a singer, songwriter, and drummer for her people, the Tla’amin First Nation of British Columbia, is seen in a cedar cape. The youngest speaker at the United Nations Indigenous Forum, she is a fierce advocate of indigenous rights and environmental protection.
AS WITH MANY IMPASSIONED JOURNEYS, MY LIFE AS A CONSERVATIONIST AND ARTIST BEGAN WITH A LESSON.
A lesson that rattles in my soul like a grain of sand in a chambered nautilus shell. Urging me onwards; reminding me why I do this work. Curled deep within this hidden spiral is the unwavering memory of one of the most powerful photographs I never took.
The densely knit Amazon rainforest; home to countless indigenous peoples and the once-mighty Xingú River, now forever tamed.
When I was a young and inexperienced photographer, I was sent on an assignment to a remote corner of the Brazilian Amazon. Flying from town to town, over vast stretches of rainforest, and in increasingly small airplanes, I finally arrived at the Kayapó village of Kendjam; home to one hundred and fifty individuals. My mission was to give a face and a name to the thousands of indigenous people whose lives were soon to be impacted by the construction of the Belo Monte dam.
Young Kayapó children will sit or stand patiently for hours, as their mothers paint their bodies with genipap, a dye made from a forest fruit of the same name. Being painted, and painting others, is a very important form of social bonding in these remote Amazonian villages.
Late one afternoon, I saw a group of women coming up from the river; one of them carrying a tiny baby in her arms. It dawned on me that they had just given this newborn his first bath in the river; a vital ritual bath that ties a person’s fate to the fate of the river. And I had missed it. I consoled myself, naively thinking I that could find the mother in the morning and ask her to bring her baby back down to the water, hoping to recreate what I had missed. Tragically, we woke to the news that the infant had not lived through the night. By the time I had figured out what was happening, the women had already buried the tiny body, and I had missed that ritual as well.
Dismayed, I began to wonder if I was up to the challenge of this assignment, wishing the editors had sent a more experienced photographer, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure approaching. It was the mother of the baby, walking straight towards me and bawling. Nobody was going near her. As she came closer, I saw that she was cradling a dirty bundle.
In her sorrow, she had dug out the body of her dead child, and was carrying him around. Clutching a machete in her hand, she was hitting her forehead with the blunt edge as she screamed out her sorrow. Her face, her dress, her dead son; all were covered in mud and blood.
I stood there, gripping my camera with frozen fingers; paralyzed.
I could think only of my children back home and how I would feel if a stranger shoved a camera in my face just after I had lost my child. I am ashamed to admit that I did not take any photos.
The Xingú river is intimately woven into the fabric of Kayapó life. This young girl’s eyes speak of a beloved waterway about to be dammed forever, of pride in her people’s traditions, of fear for a future unknown, and of the innocence that every child deserves to live with.
A few months later we learned that the dam had been approved and construction was to begin immediately. I thought about the beautiful, generous people I had met and how their lives would be changed forever.
To this day, I am haunted by this question:
Would their fate have been been different if I had dared to do my job and take those difficult photographs? What if my images had been beautiful enough, or dramatic enough, to change the conversation?
The Kayapó people believe that if they are good to the forest and to the river, they will be provided with everything they need to sustain themselves.
I will never know, because that day I lacked the courage to press the shutter: a mistake I never made again. From that moment forwards, I pledged never to hesitate and to make images that matter.
For centuries the Kayapó way of life has been deeply entwined with the rivers that flow through the forest. For me, this image is a powerful symbol of nature’s familial hold on the human spirit, reminding us that nature is so much more than a commodity to exploit.
Over the course of my career I have witnessed photography’s ability to shape perceptions, help societies pause and reflect, and inspire change. Being a photographer allows me to share my deepened understanding of the truth that all things in nature are part of one vast ecosystem.
Unlike people, the Earth’s diverse waterways, wildlife, and forests are intricately woven into the fabric of the whole; not claiming a separate existence. My hope is that my images will inspire a stronger connection with the nature that lies within and around us, as it is infinitely worthy of our deepest respect and care.
In a raw world that seems to bleed everyday with shriveling resources, human tragedy, and environmental ruin. Where every moment with a press of a button or a swipe of a screen, we are assaulted with distressing news, stories and images that threaten our sense of security and dim our lights, we must find ways to remain optimistic.
We must work to remove the physical and metaphorical barriers that block our meaningful connection to one another and to our planet. In my twenty five years documenting remote tribal communities around the world I have learned important lessons from their collective wisdom.
A young girl of the Afar tribe, from Ethiopia. Her people are fiercely proud and independent, having lived forever in the harsh deserts of the Horn of Africa, as semi-nomadic cattle and camel herders.
Spending time with Indigenous peoples has taught me that abundance is not measured in the things that we own, but in the strength of our human spirit, and in the depth of our connection to the natural world.
From the Amazon to the Arctic, these communities nurture an intimate awareness of the web of relationships that have sustained them in harmony with nature, for millennia. I have long thought about how I could share my own interpretation of this intuitive wisdom. Among the Kayapó, the Gitga’at, the Inuit, and the many other Indigenous communities I have photographed, I have witnessed a myriad of common strands — spiritual and physical; past and future. Woven together, they become the exquisite and universal fabric of something that I have come to call “enoughness”.
Made from the feathers of birds of paradise, the Indigenous peoples in the highlands of Papua New Guinea pride themselves on elaborate personal decoration. This woman’s spectacular headdress had been passed down from generation to generation.
My personal true north for navigating the complexities and contradictions of modern life with more planetary integrity, I search for these threads of enoughness: belonging, purpose, sacred ecology, spirituality, and creative expression in the people I meet, and the experiences I have.
I describe and show enoughness within the words and images in the first part of my book, Amaze, and I share an excerpt with you here. It is my hope that enoughness can be recognized as a path to a more fully expressed life, as we seek to entwine these threads more deeply into our own personal tapestry.
I am often asked if I gave gum to these boys from the highlands of Papua New Guinea, but the answer is no. They were at the Mount Hagen Sing-Sing, a festival that celebrated the most culturally-intact tribe, and delighted in surprising me with their bubbles.
We all yearn to belong, whether it be to a people, or to a place.
On the spray-soaked shorelines of the Pacific Northwest, a part of the world that I am now fortunate enough to call home, the Sundance Chief of the Tsleil-Wuatuth First Nation shared with me what belonging means to him. For his people, the land is not something that you own, nor is it a commodity to be bought and sold. Instead, it is something that you belong to.
For over 30,000 years the Tsleil-Waututh First Nation and their ancestors have lived in the region we now call Burrard Inlet.
Rock, tree, river, or hill, crow, bear, or human, all were formed from the same elements by the Ancestors long ago. Their land is alive with relations, no matter the shape that relation may take. When you love, need, and care for the land, in return, the land will love, need, and care for its people. For the Tsleil-Waututh, the land is both family and self.
It is the ultimate expression of belonging.
Wearing his people’s traditional headdress, Will George, of the Tsleil-Waututh First Nation, screams out his frustration at the Canadian government for allowing the expansion of another destructive oil pipeline across his people’s ancestral lands.
Over the years I have observed that irrespective of culture and our place within the world, the path to true fulfillment often lies in finding joy and meaning through purpose. Living a life of purpose may mean intentionally raising your children wholeheartedly as compassionate, courageous citizens, of planet Earth, or it may mean developing your unique skill or talent so that you can contribute to your community. For me, it is the feeling that my passion lines up with what the world needs. Regardless, it is about recognizing your own inner value.
Seeking shelter from the relentless sun, I was invited in by this beautiful Antandroy woman, who was wearing a traditional mask made of powdered bark, a natural mosquito repellent and sunblock. She too was feeling unwell and I was moved by her humble hospitality and grace.
I marvel at how when we treat one another with compassion, and respect the creatures and land we rely on, our sense of personal nourishment grows in direct relationship. The elements that make up enoughness help us cultivate fulfillment from within. Rather than needing or expecting the world to give us something, enoughness naturally inspires us to give back, to others and to the planet. Cultivating a sense of belonging, embracing spirituality, and intentionally finding purpose. Tapping into existing sacred ecologies and embracing our natural gifts for creative expression. This is how we can nurture enoughness, as individuals, and as an intimately connected global community.
In northwestern Yunnan, each village has a sacred forest where the locals believe the gods reside, along with the spirits of their ancestors. People are not allowed to cut down trees, but they can collect fallen branches, mushrooms, and medicinal plants.
Enoughness is the feeling of something central being restored. It is a luminous path to a fully expressed life.
What a joy it has been to find the purposeful focus of living from enoughness in my own life; by looking carefully and listening closely to the lessons shared with me by the people who still live close to the land and who know how to carve a living from the Earth without destroying it.
The embodiment of strength, knowledge, and the rich cultural heritage of her people, who have lived in the rainforests of Brazil for millenia, this Kayapó elder is a leader in her community and a proud keeper of their traditional knowledge.
Eyes on the horizon, Miracle, Virtuous, and Heavenly Kaahanui float with their surfboards, waiting for the next set of waves to roll in. For centuries their ancestors have practiced this art, perfecting their prowess in the water, and nurturing a deep connection with the life-giving grace of the sea. In that moment, soaked in the glittering spray of the vast Pacific Ocean once again, I know for certain that long-lasting change will only come when we feel more connected to the surge of life that is beating on our shores.
Three Hawaiian sisters wait for the waves in Makaha Beach, Oahu.
Over millennia, the tireless swing of the tides has given shape to the continents and character to our coasts; morphed and bent to the will of the sea. Every day, for a few precious hours, the shore belongs to the land. Then under the gravitational spell of the moon, it is once again reclaimed by the waves. To us, however, it never truly belongs.
There is an invisible line between the familiar feeling of our feet on solid ground and the inky abyss, often foreign and fearsome, where creatures with gills, scales, and fins are better suited to survive.
[1] A curious Stellar sea lion in the rich waters of the Salish Sea. [2] Molina Dawson, a young Musgamagw Dzawada’enuxw warrior, is occupying the polluting open-net fish farm that was placed in her people’s ancestral territory without their consent.
Though bound to the land, humans have benefited from the riches of the sea since the beginning of time. We should know by now that if our oceans thrive, so do we. Why then, are we collectively failing to nurture and protect the cornerstone of all life on Earth?
As he lifts his eyes to the falling snowflakes, Naimanngitsoq Kristiansen, a traditional Inuit hunter from Greenland, reminds me that nature is a spiritual sanctuary, made all the more hallowed by the first flurry of snow in Spring.
Knowingly or not we have abused the generosity of the sea. Perhaps we have been walking on land for so long, we have forgotten that our very existence depends on a healthy ocean. Every second breath we take comes from the sea; the oceans are the watery lungs of our planet, producing vast amounts of oxygen and absorbing countless tons of carbon dioxide.
One billion people, including many of the world’s poor, rely on fish for their daily protein. The rain and snow that falls over distant mountains, irrigating fields many miles from the shore, originates at sea. Immense ocean currents regulate our planetary climate, maintaining the perfect conditions for our fragile existence. Today, human-induced global warming and exploitation of our environment are threatening to destabilize all of this.
On a three-week long expedition from the southernmost tip of India to Chennai, I stopped in every coastal town to see what the fishermen were bringing in. The women I met told me that the fish are getting smaller and smaller, and many species are disappearing.
HOWEVER, ALL IS NOT LOST. WE STILL HAVE TIME TO NURTURE THE OCEAN’S INCREDIBLE RESILIENCE.
From Mexico to the Pacific Northwest, I have witnessed entire ocean ecosystems spring back to life when local communities are empowered to sustainably manage and restore their waters. Slowly but surely, communities around the world are harnessing the political will necessary to bring our oceans back to health. When we act together, we can inspire great change. This is why I co-founded SeaLegacy with my life partner, Paul Nicklen.
Zah, an artisanal fisherman, harpoons fish in the Abrolhos Reef to feed his family. Because they live in a Marine Protected Extractive Area, fishermen like Zah are committed to complying with fishing regulations and no-take zones, which benefit their local ecosystem.
With a mission to create healthy and abundant oceans for our planet, SeaLegacy is a strong, collective voice of organizations, social media influencers and individuals working together to spark the kind of global conversation that inspires people to act. Through powerful media and art we deliver hope — the kind of hope that empowers and generates solutions. Hope can be a game changer, and hope for our planet is empowering.
I watched as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the molten gold of sunset saturated the twilight. Just as his ancestors have done for centuries before him, Naimanngitsoq Kristiansen waits patiently for harp seal or walrus at the ice edge.
Extraordinary opportunities exist to restore and thoughtfully develop our oceans in order to protect them and sustain life on this planet.
Our team at SeaLegacy works with an international council of experts to identify projects that are helping to create healthy and abundant oceans. We engage a groundswell social audience of over six million followers with compelling storytelling and invest in community-centered solutions, rallying global support through our massive media network.
Through vibrant digital campaigns, we take on projects such as influencing policy makers to protect whale habitats in the Norwegian fjords, filmmaking to show the critical ecological value of keeping the Antarctic Peninsula wild and free, and partnering with indigenous First Nations communities to ban harmful fish farming in northern Vancouver Island, Canada.
Every day, through our vital work, I experience hope in action. Co-founding SeaLegacy gifts me with the ability to align the rich elements of enoughness with my deep concern for life beneath the thin blue line of our ocean.
From the air we breathe, to the food we eat, to the climate we live in, we all depend on our oceans. Today, they are more important than ever. Healthy oceans absorb vast amounts of carbon from our atmosphere and help reduce the impact of climate change.
On nights when the opalescent moon brings waves crashing against the rocky shoreline of the coast that I call home, I rejoice in the pungent scent of saltwater. The sea is like a forgotten womb from which all life emerged. It is here, at the water’s edge, that my heart beats its loudest.
Perhaps it is the reassuring cadence of the tidal rhythms or the way that the waves roll in from the open ocean with playful, operatic grace, carrying dreams of faraway underwater kingdoms. Or perhaps it is the way that the ocean’s low, sacred rumble rests in my soul, long after the last grain of sand has washed from between my toes.
A shimmering sunset is reflected in these shallow waters, as traditional Vezo fishermen draw up their boats for the night.
As a photographer, I feel an urgency to remind my fellow humans that our destiny is inexorably tied to the fate of the sea. As a scientist, I am motivated by the knowledge that continuing to ignore the failing health of our oceans now, while we ponder the consequences later, is an invitation for disaster.
Combining the two, I am a fierce advocate for our planet and strive every day to make a tangible difference. With hope as a beacon, my dream is that together we can turn the tide and achieve healthy, abundant oceans for all.
Two young Vezo girls, like water nymphs more at home in the ocean than on land, gather fish for their family’s dinner.
CRISTINA MITTERMEIER is a photographer, writer and conservationist documenting the intersection of wild nature and humans. Co-founder at SeaLegacy.
THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA
The Origins of Pama-Nyungan, Australia’s Largest Family of Aboriginal Languages
The approximately 400 languages of Aboriginal Australia can be grouped into 27 different families. To put that diversity in context, Europe has just four language families, Indo-European, Basque, Finno-Ugric and Semitic, with Indo-European encompassing such languages as English, Spanish, Russian and Hindi.
Australia’s largest language family is Pama-Nyungan. Before 1788 it covered 90% of the country and comprised about 300 languages. The territories on which Canberra (Ngunnawal), Perth (Noongar), Sydney (Daruk, Iyora), Brisbane (Turubal) and Melbourne (Woiwurrung) are built were all once owned by speakers of Pama-Nyungan languages.
All the languages from the Torres Strait to Bunbury, from the Pilbara to the Grampians, are descended from a single ancestor language that spread across the continent to all but the Kimberley and the Top End.
Where this language came from, how old it is, and how it spread, has been something of a puzzle. Our research, published today in Nature Ecology and Evolution, suggests the family arose just under 6,000 years ago around what is now the Queensland town of Burketown. Our findings suggest this language family spread across Australia as people moved in response to changing climate.
Aboriginal Australia is often described as “the world’s oldest living culture”, and public discussion often falsely assumes that this means unchanging. Our research adds further evidence to Australia pre-1788 being a dynamic place, where people moved and adapted to a changing land.
Map of Pama-Nyungan languages, coloured by their main groupings. Compiled by Claire Bowern using data from National Science Foundation grant BCS-0844550.
Tracing Pama-Nyungan
We used data from changes in several hundred words in different languages from the Pama-Nyungan family to build up a tree of languages, using a computer model adapted from those used originally to trace virus outbreaks.
Different related words for ‘fire’ in certain Pama-Nyungan languages. Green dots show languages with a word for ‘fire’ related to *warlu; white has *puri; red has *wiyn; blue has *maka, and purple *karla. Chirila files (http://chirila.yale.edu) and google earth for base image.
Because our models make estimates of the time that it takes for words to change, as well as how words in Pama-Nyungan languages are related to one another, we can use those changes to estimate the age of the family.
We found clear support for the origin of Pama-Nyungan just under 6,000 years ago in an area around what is now the Queensland town of Burketown. We found no support for the theories that Pama-Nyungan spread earlier.
The timing of this expansion is consistent with a theory that increasingly unstable conditions caused groups of people to fragment and spread. But correlation is not causation: just because two patterns appear related, it does not mean that one caused the other.
In this case, however, we have other evidence that access to ecological resources has shaped how people migrated. We found that, in our model, groups of people moved more slowly near the coast and major waterways, and faster across deserts. This implies that populations increase where food and water are plentiful, and then spread out and fissure when resources are harder to obtain.
You can see a simulated expansion here. The spread of Pama-Nyungan languages mirrored this spread of people.
What languages tell us
Languages today tell us a lot about our past. Because languages change regularly, we can use information in them to work out who groups were talking to in the past, where they lived, who they are related to, and where they’ve moved. We can do this even in the absence of a written record and of archaeological materials.
For places like Australia, the linguistic record, though incomplete, has more even coverage across the continent than the archaeological record does. At European settlement, there were about 300 Pama-Nyungan languages. Because there are at least some records of most of them we are able to work with these to uncover these complex patterns of change.
There are approximately 145 Aboriginal languages with speakers today, including languages from outside the Pama-Nyungan family. Many of these languages, such as Dieri, Ngalia and Mangala, are spoken by only a few people, many of whom are elderly.
Other languages, however, are actively used in their communities and are learned as first languages by young children. These include the Yolŋu languages of Arnhem Land and Arrernte in Central Australia. Yet others (such as Kaurna around Adelaide) are undergoing a renaissance, gaining speakers within their communities.
Nathan B. performing “Yolŋu Land” using English and Yolŋu Matha.
Finally, though not the focus of our study, there are also new languages, such as Kriol spoken across Northern Australia, Palawa Kani in Tasmania, and Gurindji Kriol. Many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders also know English, and most Indigenous Australians are multilingual.
Without records of all these languages, and without ongoing work to support speakers and communities, we aren’t able to do research like this, and Australia loses a vital link to its history. After all, European settlement of Australia is a tiny chunk of the time people have lived on this land.
This article was originally published on The Conversation.
CLAIRE BOWERN
Claire Bowern is Professor of Linguistics at Yale University. Her 2004 PhD is from Harvard University and examined the historical morphology of complex verb constructions in a family of non-Pama-Nyungan (Australian) languages. Her research focuses on the Indigenous languages of Australia, and is concerned with language documentation/description and prehistory.
COLOMBIA: Slow Motion Travel
Filmmaker Chris Grewe displays his best experiences while traveling Colombia in slow motion.
African Journals | Chronicles from the Road, Part One: Landscapes
The road trip started in Cape town were we spent a month shooting a campaign for Fayrouz, a product by Heineken. From there we had no plan, but by meeting locals, listening to their stories and being open-minded about every adventure we came across, we ended up in Windhoek, Namibia with a 4×4 monster truck which we called Bowser (super Mario kart). The route formed by itself, in a natural way. We got invited to shoot photos for lodges, guesthouses and hotels in Otjiwarongo, Swakopmund, Walvisbay, Rietoog and then we continued on our way to Sossusvlei. There is a big German influence visible in the cities/villages, especially on the Skeleton Coast. You will find Bratwurst on the menu, for sure. Namibia was a German colony until 1904. The route from Walvisbay to Sossusvlei – the C14 – was insane, unforgettable. It is supposed to be a four hour journey, but it took us seven. After hours of sand and drought, something magical happens… You drive through this big mountain, and afterwards you’re suddenly driving through green and purple landscapes – so unreal, like you’ve arrived on the film set of The Lord of The Rings. All the way to the red dunes of Sossusvlei there is so much wildlife to see, and you only pass through one ‘village’ Solitaire. I say ‘village’, but it is really just a petrol station where you can eat apple pie with the few local people who live there. It is amazing. Sossusvlei is like the cherry on the cake; from 6am the colours are changing like the wind. Incredible.
Next stop: Victoria Falls. One of the Seven World Wonders. We arrived in Zimbabwe, but our accommodation was in Zambia (the Falls are on the border between the two countries). Zambia was such a surprise; rainforest, monkeys everywhere, snakes and the best local market – the Maramba Market – where you can meet local people, have fun, and drink cheap local beer, Mozi beer! You can easily spend a whole day at Billy’s Café, listening to stories, playing pool and enjoying local goods like cassava pate (pretty weird stuff to be honest). The music is loud and everyone will dance the day away.
From Zambia to Botswana involves taking a lot of different public transfers, ending up at the border where you take an Industrial-Truck-Ferry. Trucks wait in line – sometimes for more than two weeks! – as the ferry can only carry one truck at a time, with a bunch of people around it. In Botswana, the public bus trips were epic. From Kasane to Maun (18 hours), from Maun to Gaborone (14 hours) from Gaborone to Jo’burg (15 hours). It was the rainy season and a lot of roads where flooded.
Jo’burg was our last stop. This city made a deep deep impression on us. It was so electric, in a lot of ways. You feel the different layers of the city from the past, but you also feel new energies. There is a lot happening, the city with all her different areas is very dynamic and moving. It’s hard to explain the way we feel about this city, we would recommend everyone to go there, to experience it in your own way.
Showing respect and interest in local people is so important. We met interesting people everyday and it was a real honour to hear their voices, their stories and to have chats about the little things in life too. The city center is not the nicest place to go at the moment, but there are a lot of upcoming areas like Maboneng (meaning ‘Place of Light’), Melville, Braamfontein, Fox Precinct and Newtown.
This city brought us a lot, we were really inspired by the people, the vibe and also the deep history that this city is carrying. BBC describes how Johannesburg has changed from a ‘no-go to gotta-go’ – that says a lot. Things are changing, but like all important world changes, it takes time.
See you soon dear Africa, you are in our hearts.
THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON ROAM MAGAZINE.
MANOUK QUINT
Manouk Robina Quint is a 25 year-old photographer currently living in Amsterdam. She has loved creating stories for as long as she can remember. Manouk now has her own photography business; Hans en Grietje – donotsaycheese.com. Together with her soulmate, Hidde van der Linden, they began by capturing the party-life of Amsterdam in clubs, parties and festivals. Now the duo photograph food, interior, fashion, weddings, portraits and travel, also writing concepts and stories to create campaigns for brands.
Explore Aotearoa with Ludovic Gilbert
Aotearoa is the Maori name for New Zealand. Ludovic Gilbert and his wife spent 3 weeks there for their honeymoon, and traveled more than 4,000 miles through Christchurch, Akaroa, Lake Tekapo, Te Anau, Wanaka, Fox Glacier, Punakaiki, Kaiteriteri, Wellington, Tongariro, Taupo, Whengamata and Auckland. Here are the fantastic landscapes, beautiful people and lakes with amazing colors they found.
In Search of Beauty in Antarctica
Traveling on a sailing ship built in 1911, the same era the last great expeditions braved the unknown and departed for the infinite and barren landscapes of the white continent, René Koster leaves on his own voyage in search of beauty, the beauty of emptiness and cold.
Thoughts of frozen ships trapped in ice-covered seas cross my mind.
Embarking on a voyage to the South Pole, I travel in a sailing ship built in 1911, the same era the last great expeditions departed for the unknown continent. I recall images of the photographers who joined these expeditions to report of the unexplored. Fascinated by their stories I head for the same circumstances as those of the early twentieth century.
I am on a journey of longing, to a time that once was. A heroic saga, filled with hardship and adventure, in an infinite, barren land.
This series of photographs, taken with modern equipment, references the past. Personally, I feel no need for the photographs to look as if they have been created with techniques of the early 1900s. This is why I have deliberately chosen to work in color; allowing the greyscale of the landscape to emphasize the blue captured in ice. In my search for the right images, I have tried to avoid as many elements of the present time as possible; things that would remind me of everyday life.
The calm misty weather gives me a sense of desolation and makes the whole world feel smaller.
The slow rate of traveling by sailing ship influences my way of taking photographs; I seek stillness, harmony and tragedy in these otherworldly landscapes. In search of beauty, the beauty of emptiness and cold.
RENE KOSTER
René Koster's work concentrates mostly on travel photography and portraits for magazines around the globe. Work from his Antarctica project was awarded The Travel Photographer of the Year. Check out his website here.
Finding Family On the Go in Nepal
Foregoing proper family time is one of the biggest sacrifices I make as a professional traveler. It is too easy to go “off the grid” and think that every one just understands a vagabond lifestyle. Far too often it is just assumed that the traveler in the family is out of the country and the conversations go from, “Hey let's grab lunch!” to “When’s the next trip, how long are you gone and why are you leaving me again?” Always absent from the birthday parties, weddings and the impromptu Sunday morning coffee chats with the grandparents. Absent from the little one’s baseball games, grandma’s chemotherapy appointments and the family BBQ’s at my parent's pool. Absent becomes an all too common trend.
When looking at my niece and younger cousins, I think about the close bond I made with my favorite aunt as a kid because of the trips to Chuck E. Cheese’s, the movie nights and always knowing without a doubt that she would be in the crowd at every baseball game. Will I be that awesome uncle or someone for them? I notice that my parents are donning a few more greys these days and my grandparents are having run-ins with illnesses more often. Should I be home reigniting the Sunday family dinner tradition that was so strong throughout my childhood? These questions run through my mind regularly and fill me with a small sense of guilt.
Sometimes, I would do anything for a one way ticket home to surround myself with family and bask in the cheap rent prices of the Midwest. However, that is not in the cards right now and won’t be for a long time. Until then, I will forever appreciate Southwest Airlines for the cheap flights (and 2 free checked bags!) from NYC to Kansas City that I frequent 2-3 times a year. I highly cherish this valuable family time and am incredibly thankful for it.
I finally turned a corner on not feeling guilty for being gone on my most recent trip to Nepal. As a part of my job with buildOn, I get the privilege of living with different host families twelve times a year around the globe. As a trek coordinator, I manage teams of Bronx high school students and volunteers traveling to a community to break ground and construct a primary school. This experience is called trek, and yes, you can get involved. My host families have all been amazing.
However, my latest host family in Nepal was unlike any others I had stayed with. They left me feeling full of so much warm love and happiness that I didn’t want to leave. For 9 nights, I became part of the Sunar family in the Bhagatpur Village. Despite our language barrier, our differing skin tones and our unique understandings of the world, I truly knew I had found long lost family members that I just had not had the opportunity to meet yet.
Every night when I wandered back into my room of their tiny concrete home, I was exhausted. It would have been very easy for me to take my bucket shower, eat my dinner and go to sleep without much interaction. Instead, no matter what time I rolled in, my three host sisters, Joti, Alicia and Aribica were eagerly waiting to greet me with the biggest smile and a “Namaste brother!” I couldn’t help but smile and quickly put my things down to join them for dinner.
Dinner time in Nepal is all about sharing family time. We would all surround a little fire stove while sitting on straw mats on the dirt floor and take our turns washing our hands. My host grandmother proudly served us heaps and heaps of rice, lentils, potatoes and vegetables that she had been preparing for hours in her primitive kitchen. My family never served themselves first and always made sure that I was so full that I could barely move because not taking seconds is simply not an option in Nepalese culture. Most nights we would practice our languages, and without fail they would burst out laughing every time I butchered a Nepali word or phrase. One night, I gave them a 100 piece jigsaw puzzle with the photo of two elephants on it. To my surprise, they had never seen a puzzle and were very confused as to what it’s purpose was. For 45 minutes, we sat and focused on putting that puzzle together and I happily observed as their problem solving wheels turned every time they placed each piece. Most people would have given up, but all 7 family members huddled around to tackle this puzzle. This reminded me of the days spent piecing puzzles together with my mom as a kid and even though I was filled with nostalgia, I knew how proud she would be to see me teaching them our favorite past time.
Piecing together that puzzle was just one of many activities we shared in that small little kitchen. Thanks to my great friends at LuMee, we took hundreds of illuminated selfies and videos. My host sisters sat one night and artistically colored in my henna tattoos with markers I had brought them. We talked about their religion, their family and how education is important for everyone. We laughed and laughed and laughed. We were family. No matter how stressful the day, every night when I went to sleep underneath my mosquito net on my bed that doubled as a table, I couldn’t help but think about how much they have, despite lacking many modern day luxuries that so many of us prioritize. They have family, they have love and they have community - is that not what we are all searching for?
When it was time to finally leave my family in Bhagatpur, I was filled with the usual sadness I feel at the end of my treks because of the unknowing of whether or not I will ever see my host families again. The reality is that I very likely will not. As I walked to the bus with both little sisters palms in my hands and my entire family following behind, I looked at them and grinned and said, “I love you family” and through their tears they said, “Love you brother!” In that moment, I knew that my family has forever grown by seven members.
My family means the world to me. If I didn’t travel that world, I would never find my family members like the Sunar’s, and that to me is more than enough reason to keep traveling. My family will forever grow.
#lucasonthego
TRIP REVIEW: Surfing South Africa to Help Out
The downfall of many volunteer organizations is cost. All too often there will be a $1000+ price tag on a trip that lasts only a week or two, not included airfare. This isn’t news, so it should come as no surprise that there are people out there who are working to fix this. One of these people is Daniel Radcliffe (no, not the actor). After collecting a Masters of Business, Daniel decided that it was time to give back to the world. He began to research volunteer trips. He too ran into this roadblock, but unlike someone like me who will simple notice the problem and then write about it, Daniel decided to do something. International Volunteer HQ was founded upon his return to New Zealand in 2007. “IVHQ was born with the goal of providing safe, affordable and high quality placements in areas where there is a real need for volunteers.” One of these places is South Africa.
It’s easy to read a statistic or to watch a documentary and think that we understand. Sure, we have problems here in the United States, there’s inequality and poverty everywhere, but, honestly, we cannot imagine what some citizens of the world live through. In South Africa the average life expectancy of a white South African is 71 years. The average life expectancy for the black population is 48 years. In 2005 it was estimated that 31% of the female population was infected with HIV, most of them black. There are 1,200,000 orphans. These are numbers and statistics, I could throw them onto a graph and you would see the vast differences, but you still wouldn’t know, you would still be using your imagination. Over there, it’s a reality. South Africa needs help and, if you feel so inclined, you can give it.
IVHQ sends volunteers to South Africa on the first and third Monday of each month. They normally arrive in groups of twenty to fifty people and the assist the community in an astounding variety of ways. Participants can involve themselves in a teaching project, in childcare, computer training, sports development and, an organization after my own heart, a surf outreach program.
Maybe you’re wondering what good a surf outreach program would do for children when they could be receiving extra medical attention or extra food and shelter. In the words of Ellen Varoy, Marketing and Media Coordinator for IVHQ, “The Surf Outreach program is designed to provide these children with an after school activity, keeping them off the streets of Cape Town and placing them in a safe and encouraging environment. Through the program, these children have the opportunity to learn new skills, take up new challenges, gain confidence and interact with our international volunteers, who the children look up to as role models.” It’s not about whether or not these kids learn to surf. It’s about showing them that there are people who care. It’s about being a ray of light on an otherwise bleak horizon. As a surfer would say, it’s about sharing the stoke. Would these children benefit more from help that focused on their health and nourishment? On the spreadsheet, probably, but where would they go after that? I say give them role models, give them hope and teach them that they can overcome. That, in my opinion, will last much longer than a loaf of bread.
The cost of IVHQ trips is one of the things that makes this organization so great. Prospective volunteers for the surf outreach program only have to pay $320 for one week. Longer periods of time require more money, being capped off at six months for $4580. This does not included airfare or visas or spending money. Also, if you want to participate in the surf outreach program you must know how to swim. I just thought I would point that out. If you are interested in any of the other programs offered for South Africa, you can find more information here.
IVHQ is a fantastic option for people who want to volunteer for an affordable price. A full range of trips can be found at their website, http://www.volunteerhq.org/. As usual, if you were interested in the trip, but don’t think it’s for you, check back with Mission.tv next week for the next article in our series of trip reviews.
For testimonials by volunteers who completed the surf outreach program, check out: Testimonials
To check out a video from the trip click here.
LEARN MORE ABOUT IVHQ
KINO CROOKE spent the last three years juggling school and travel. He most recently spent the last two months traveling across Spain before moving to New York to work with CATALYST.