Vagabundo Magazine

Did I mention that I’m gay?

ZachKuehner — Wed, 15 May 2013 15:51:29 +0000

In a recent television interview, comedian David Cross spoke about growing up as a Jewish kid in Atlanta, Georgia in the 1970’s: “I wasn’t bald when I was a kid…I had a little Jew-fro…so people knew I was Jewish,” he said. “Sure, there’s southern hospitality, as long as you’re not different.” (emphasis added) I think about this a lot when I hear terms like “southern hospitality”, “small town values”, “Middle Eastern hospitality,” or any other phrase that celebrates the welcoming nature of a demographic or region or religion with a less-than-stellar record on civil and human rights.

Over the last ten months, Kat and I have generally been treated with extreme kindness, but there have been many instances wherein that hospitality was clearly conditional. It’s hard to put your finger on it after the fact, but in the moment there is little doubt about which elephants inhabit which rooms. Despite the hospitality that we no doubt experienced – much of it generous to the point of embarrassment – I couldn’t help but wonder what the reaction would have been had I chosen to respond to questions about Kat and my relationship with: “Oh, no, we’re just friends…I’m gay…I have a boyfriend back home…” Call me crazy, but I’m willing to bet this would have been a conversation stopper on many occasions, and in some places, potentially much more than that.

I wouldn’t be a very good Canadian if I didn’t offer at least a couple conciliatory remarks, so I will say to those reading this that have hosted us along the way that I am likely not referring to you. I don’t think our friendship would have evolved this far if I were. But I am referring, for example, to the Bosnian gentleman who picked us up while hitchhiking, who invited us for tea and conversation at his home, who wanted to know all about my political opinions, and who responded to my affirmation of gay marriage by telling me that it was sick and that “opinions like that can get you killed around here.” He also had a loaded gun on the table…

I’m in no way implying that something about “the East”, in the Orientalist sense, is intrinsically homophobic or intolerant. The West and the East are diverse entities, and though the West is on the whole much more progressive on the question of gay rights, much of the United States (and indeed Canada) remains as backward as the day is long on this issue, and I’m sure even the most socially enlightened European countries would have a few caveats. In addition, there seems to be a relative degree of tolerance for alternative sexual lifestyles and gender identities in many Asian countries we’ve visited, particularly Thailand (though I think same-sex partnership is still technically punishable with jail time).

With all of that said, I can tell you that I felt a shift as we moved into the Balkans, and there is pretty good evidence to back up the assertion that, as a homosexual, things get worse for you as you go east. The majority of European countries (and all the 23 European Union ones) have signed the UN’s Joint Statement on the rights of LGBT persons, but the Balkan countries are unique in that they do not recognize same sex relationships at all, and though the prospect of EU membership has improved the situation, gay pride parades in Belgrade and Sarajevo have recently been the site of horrific acts of violence and have had to be heavily protected by police. Moving further east, things only get worse. Turkey, like the Balkans countries, does not recognize same sex relationships, and it will likely come as no surprise that the penalty for homosexual acts in Iran is death. In India, there is again no recognition and the same goes for much of Southeast Asia (with the exception of Malaysia, which may opt to throw you in prison for life). Given this, and given that legislation on social issues is often ahead of the societal mindset, one could be forgiven for withholding certain sexual proclivities as a traveller.

When I think about it, what struck me most about the subject of LGBT relationships throughout our travels is that in so many countries, it did not appear to be a subject at all. People laughed (and inside, I hope, cried) when Mahmoud Ahmadinejad proclaimed in front of an audience at Columbia University that Iran had no gay people; that this was a peculiarly Western phenomenon. But when you visit Iran, you would certainly think this is the case. Clearly it is recognized that same sex attractions exist (this, it has been argued, is why Iran has such high rates of government-funded gender reassignment surgery) but if the issue ever came up with Iranians (a rarity, I admit), the response was not so much a prejudicial one, but something more like disbelief.

In one instance, Kat and I were talking to a well-read Iranian friend about our lives in Canada. In addition to all the usual stuff about what we did for fun and what Toronto was like, Kat mentioned that in the year leading up to our trip we had lived with a couple of men, who were a couple. Kat said it so matter-of-factly that it took our new friend a minute to process what he had heard before he stopped her and asked her to clarify. When she did, his response was something to the effect of, “seriously, that’s a thing?” Occasions like this are telling, because the man’s ignorance clearly had nothing to do with ignorance in general. It reminded me of a story that Kat once told me about her time studying international development at Fudan University in Shanghai, one of the best in the country. Exchange students were required to complete a placement at one NGO or another and Kat had chosen to do outreach with China’s then highly-underground gay community. When she and the other students described their experience, the professor (in the Faculty of Social Work, no less) was apparently in shock that students had actually seen and talked to members of this community.

Many gay travellers have obviously had a great time in places where their rights are not fully respected, and I take it for granted that the LGBT rights movement is making progress (and not just in the West). But I try as much as I can to remain cognisant of the fact that as a heterosexual backpacker, I am not required to withhold much about myself for fear of judgement – except maybe by status as a non-believer which, though a persecution- (and prosecution-) worthy offence in some places, is not quite the same thing. So I guess the question I’m posing is this: if you feel that the kind treatment you receive depends on your keeping secret something central to your identity, is this any kind of hospitality at all?

Follow Me:

Persian Pictures: Smoke, tea and Press TV

ZachKuehner — Wed, 08 May 2013 17:02:20 +0000

Travelling to Iran was always going to be difficult. My interest in the country goes back a number of years, ever since a fast friendship with a member of the Canadian diaspora introduced me to the combination of affability and seriousness that Iranians so often and so charmingly exude. The aftermath of the 2009 Iranian election further turned me on to the complexity of the country’s internal affairs and it was in this same aftermath that concern over the country’s nuclear program reached new heights. Witnessing the protests of the Green Movement and seeing first hand the reaction of my Iranian-Canadian friends, I couldn’t help but feel, as many did, that something had to give. And then it didn’t.

To claim a love-hate relationship with Iran would likely be too dramatic, but this is essentially the case. As a theocratic country, I hate it almost by definition, and most of my writing in recent posts has been purposed toward highlighting the horror and stupidity and absurdity of the current situation. I will no doubt continue to do this, since it is nearly impossible to speak of contemporary Iran without mentioning the faith-based despotism that rots the country from within. Nevertheless, there is a part of me that loves this place and it would be an injustice to you, as a reader, if I did not at least try to explain what I think sets it apart.

I’ve forgotten where, but I once read an article in which the author spoke of Iran’s salvation being tied, at least in part, to a reclamation of its “Persian soul.” At the time, I remember thinking this suggestion was an avoidance of any real or specific insight into what could actually be done. However, after a month travelling in the country, having met a wide variety of Iranians from all walks of life, I think I now understand a bit of what the author meant. To speak of “Persian soul” is still a little vague, but I honestly can’t think of a better way to describe the distinct sense of pride in the country’s Persian past, from language to literature to geopolitical ambitions (Happy Persian Gulf day! etc) - a past that remains a potent force in the society today.

A couple of years ago, the Ahmadinejad government passed a law to ban galyan (or hookah or waterpipe) in Iranian teahouses. Tea, black or flagrant, is ubiquitous in Iran and its pairing with the waterpipe in the many beautifully designed basement teahouses is integral to Persian culture. Now, I’m certainly in favour of public health measures in general and studies have shown that the hookah is likely just as dangerous (or perhaps more so, because smoking with a waterpipe tends to go on for a more sustained period of time) as smoking cigarettes. But this was not the reason for which the government issued the ban. The root of the issue was that co-ed teahouses were viewed as something subversive, potentially corrupting of the female population. The reaction to the ban was so strongly negative that Ahmadinejad ultimately sought to appease his constituency by lifting it in 2011, but only for men. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The uneasy marriage between the country’s Islamic character and its Persian past can be found in other places as well, for this is a region that was once known for wine (and alcohol is now illegal), for the poems of Hafez and the writings of the Sufi mystic, Rumi, to say nothing of the conflict between the current theocracy and the subversive and anti-clerical works of the great Omar Khayyam, whose understated tomb and museum in northeastern Neyshabur are a seldom-visited but powerful tribute to a once great Persian intellectual tradition. In Iran, one invariably finds droves of people who can not only quote Rumi and Hafez at length, but also Robert Blake (for example). It was a source of continued satisfaction to find, over and over again, such an appreciation for literature (and for the slightly naughty) in a place where the clerics would lead you to believe that only one book is needed.

I’m speculating here, but I think that the country’s Persian past is part of the reason that the population (especially the young) is decidedly in touch with the world. Very rarely are Iranians not in possession of a VPN, or families not connected to the outside with a (illegal) satellite dish (which the government eventually rips from the rooftops without a word, so the absurd penalty for having one is the burden of having to get a new one). In an attempt to feign legitimacy and internationalism, the Iranian government created Press TV, the most ridiculous parody of the BBC one could imagine, with correspondents in Washington and New York and London and some segments even hosted by western figures – most notably British Member of Parliament, intellectual cretin, and professional hate-monger, George Galloway. There aren’t enough excuses in the world to justify the continued mistreatment of the Palestinians by the Israelis, but when clips of “Bibi” Netanyahu are played to the music from the X-Files, one gets the sense that objectivity is not the goal. Similar tickles come in the form of the constant use of the term martyr to describe any Muslim death, and cartoons of Obama and the Queen (I don’t think I need to tell you that she is not the head of the British government) dancing across a digital Middle Eastern background setting things on fire with the Saudi (and Sunni) royal family at their side. Despite these efforts to prettify their propaganda, most Iranians we met seemed to see through (or, via satellite, around) the bullshit. I don’t think I need to tell you that such is not always the case in totalitarian states.

The West has been subjected to some serious negative publicity in recent years (in some cases, deservedly so) but while many young Iranians seem to have a less-than-favourable view of the West in general, and the United States in particular, the Free World is spoken of with far less sarcasm (not the same thing as irony!) in these parts. And though many we met did not wish for military intervention (I can see why they might have reservations) there are certainly Iranians who do, and many more who acknowledge that the West is, at the very least, not their enemy. We would do well to remember this, and to recognize that “Persian soul” and the “Free World” are far more compatible than we might think.

Follow Me:

Iranian Girls’ Night Out

ZachKuehner — Wed, 01 May 2013 00:55:31 +0000

In November I had the pleasure of meeting a bright young pharmacy student in Tehran who told me that his country wasn’t as bad as people think. Sure, Islam had been “misused” by the government (I let him have that one) but it certainly wasn’t the dank, pitiless, theocratic wasteland that the Western media and, most frustratingly for him, members of the Iranian diaspora typically portray. If you accept that you have to give up a few freedoms, he told me, you can live a nice life. At the time I remember thinking, “fair enough,” as well as, “I wonder what your hijab-clad girlfriend would say about that on a sweltering summer day?”

Truth be told, I don’t know what she would say. It is likely apparent from the way I posed the question that I do not agree (understatement) with the imposition of religious dress codes, particularly ones designed to “protect” the modesty of the fairer sex. But before I go ahead and describe why I think the practice is abhorrent, I should say that I am aware that many Iranian women do not feel that this is so (nor is the desire to wear the hijab or niqab or burka or chador exclusive to theocracies like Iran). It truly is a curious thing about religion that those most negatively affected (across the board!) by its various dogmas, women, are often the most staunch and genuine defenders of faith. Still, any time someone describes the decision to cover their hair or face as a choice, I immediately hear Goethe reminding us that, “none are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.” Too strong? Maybe.

In any case, the Iranian government forces all women (including tourists) to cover their hair in public, thus removing the possibility of choice altogether. And while those women who subtly (and not-so-subtly) defy the dress code, and for whom the headscarf is the least appealing accessory, may still be a minority, I like to think that such flouting is symptomatic of something deeper and far more subversive (I think the Iranian clerics may agree with me on this point).

One can readily see such defiance by the way in which some Iranian women, typically those from the more affluent areas of north Tehran, go about a “night on the town.” To begin with, I should say that the idea of a group of young women ‘going out’ in the first place is, from what I could glean, quite specific to Tehran. In most of the country, women, especially young women, do not tend to go out in public with their friends unattended by a male relative or a supervising female authority.

So that’s the first thing. The second has to do with rules of attire, and these too seem to be bent most acutely in Tehran. By law, all women (again, including tourists) must wear the hijab in public and must cover both their arms and legs to the wrist and ankle respectively. There is also a more general taboo against wearing a “top” that fails to cover the female derriere. I think I can safety say that I did not see a single Iranian woman who did not modestly cover her behind with a long shirt or manteau (incidentally, this was Kat’s most consistent faux pas, because while she made sure to keep her hair more or less covered, she continued to wear shirts that ended at her waist – the nerve!). The interesting thing was how some young women succeeded in “circumventing” these petty restrictions. Hijabs, or headscarves, would be worn as far back on the head as possible, for example, held in place by some combination of pins, hair product, and gravity; and manteaux were tailored in such a way as to compete with any Western cleavage-laden or tight-jeaned ensemble. In short, female sexuality isn’t so easy to cover up (though this doesn’t seem to keep the country’s wretched moral police from trying).

To my mind, the most emphatic sign of a resistance to modesty came from the attention paid to the face. Much like the blind man whose brain compensates for a lack of sight through enhanced hearing or smell or taste or touch, in Iranian society, a woman’s face (in particular the eyes) becomes the focus. In the cafes of north Tehran, eyeliner is often thick and dark and seductive, complexion immaculate, and the bandages from recent nose jobs common (Tehran is said to be the nose job capital of the world, in fact – though the reason why such vanity has infiltrated the young male population as well is less clear). This is a country where the idea of a woman’s eyes as “traps of the devil” has real currency, and it gives me a slight satisfaction to know that efforts to control female dress in general have led to these beautiful “traps” becoming among the most accentuated of female features.

The image of the Iranian girls’ night out: pushing the limits of dress, accentuating the features they can, drinking elaborate milkshake concoctions in place of alcohol, and (often) smoking in European-style cafes becomes particularly absurd, and the motivations of the faithful particularly transparent, when contrasted with that of an Iranian girls night in. To take just one example, in the northeastern city of Masshad (home to the tomb of Imam Reza, the holiest site in the country) there are shops whose window displays approximate those of a Western “sexy summer” catalogue: tight fits, cleavage, sexy colours, and lots of room for skin. Who is wearing these things? A glance down any Iranian street reveals the most limited (and limiting) range of styles and hues. At least one thing seemed certain – those mannequins were sinning something fierce. But were they? Well, it doesn’t take long to figure out that pious Iranian women are buying what these shops are selling – to be used in private. This reality, I think, is extremely revealing. For whose pleasure do these ostensibly modest Iranian women don such threads? Their husband’s! The pious obsession with female modesty ends where a husband’s sexual desires begin.

(Most of us are by now familiar with the fact that “good Muslims” are promised seventy-two virgins in “paradise.” They are also, I think unsurprisingly, promised rivers of wine in addition to the carnal stuff. Just as you can bet your life that the staunchest opponents of gay rights will make a quick detour to a highway rest stop on their way home to their wives – also a fun one to think about in Iran – so too can one glean the motivations of the Muslim faithful in their control of women’s sexuality; they want it for themselves in this life and they expect it in abundance in the next.)

Until the government dammed its postcard-worthy river, the city of Isfahan was surely Iran’s most beautiful (and likely still is). The bridges are architecturally and aesthetically amazing and the intricate tile work of some of the mosques makes me almost happy that Muslims take seriously the probation against graven images. Walking one day on the beautiful grounds of the famous Naqsh-e Jahan Square (like almost everything in Iran, it has been renamed after an Imam) we came across a public display of poster boards laid out by one of the many rectangular pools. The display contained a variety of messages in both Farsi and English (I have said elsewhere that Iranian propaganda tends to be translated for tourist enjoyment). Most of them tried to explain why women’s dress should be modest and what kind of abysmal consequences would result if it was not. Particularly touching was the juxtaposition of bloody scenes from the Iran-Iraq War, featuring young boys wearing bandages or screaming in agony or some such thing, with images of young Iranian women “degrading” themselves by playing golf (not cool, apparently) or wearing their headscarves too far back so that some hair was showing. Temptresses of the devil, indeed.

Writing about Afghanistan in 2004, Christopher Hitchens explained how he had been utterly transfixed by the women of that troubled country. For him, the struggle of these women to have a voice and to play a role in the new Afghanistan was the most compelling battle of all. The situation in Iran is different, but not all that different. Iranian women drive, read, and attend university in greater numbers than men (although they don’t seem to use those degrees a whole lot). But their freedoms remain a litmus test for the rest of country. Given the option, many Iranian women may choose, in some sense of the word, to don the hijab or the chador (the more conservative and all-covering black cloak), but at the very least some would not, and this fact is all that is required to condemn its imposition.

Follow Me:

Can Backpackers Get Off the Beaten Track Any More?

Brendan van Son — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 12:35:48 +0000

By Andrew Tipp

Off the beaten track. It’s one of the most well-used travel phrases ever. And we all know what it means: Remoteness. Off the grid. On your own.

Getting off the beaten track is to leave behind the familiar and embrace the new; to disconnect from what you know and immerse yourself in the strange and unexplored. It’s the regions that lie beyond your cultural and geographical frame of reference.

It’s not your comfort zone. It’s not the backpacker trail. Getting off the beaten track means experiencing something alone. It is, by definition, beyond the experience and understanding of most people.

Which is great. But there’s just one problem.

Does it actually exist any more?

The modern world

The way you can travel now is pretty different from how people were able to travel even ten years ago. Technology has shrunk the world. Made it more compact. Understandable. Sharable.

Whereas you used to experience remote and rarely explored cities and forests and canyons alone, you can now use mobile tech to record and share your experiences quickly.

Whereas you used to have to figure out where you were and how to get anywhere interesting with maps and books and actually talking to people, now you can find out where you are and how to get places on apps and online.

I’ve written previously about whether the rapid pace of technological development is destroying the romance of backpacking, but after reading that you can now get a 3G connection from the summit of Everest, it got me wondering about whether we can ever truly say we’re ‘getting off the beaten track’.

If you can tweet and text and phone people from the peak of an 8,848m mass of ice and rock, have we essentially reached a turning point in backpacking? The age of exploration is definitely dead, but is the spirit of independent travel now dying too?

In the right context

Please understand I’m not anti-technology. I’m not a sad old man who can’t accept that the world is changing, or – even worse – that I believe tech is somehow inherently ‘evil’. I use gadgets every day. I understand and appreciate all the benefits technology brings. When I travel, I use tech and inhabit the digital world as well as the physical one.

I just think it would be a shame if we lost the feeling of being able to get off the grid.

For now, the answer appears to be yes, you can still find remote villages in Tibet and valleys in Peru where you have no digital connection to ‘civilisation’. You can still get somewhere uncontactable. But how long until there are no data-free locations on Earth?

That day is coming. Devices like Google Glass are just the first wave. Glass will pave the way for an augmented reality and POV recording/sharing phenomenon that could offer everyone the vicarious experience of living through another traveller.

And if everyone can ‘beat’ any path virtually, how do you get off it? If everyone can FaceTime with someone in the deepest, darkest and most remote corners of of Earth, what does that mean?

Obviously a screen or even VR isn’t the same as ever being there for real, but we’re talking about getting that feel of being beyond the backpacker trail, and whether that’s diminished by contactability.

Philosophy of travel

So although you can physically get off the beaten track, what does the ability to share the experience do to the concept of being off the beaten track?

The people you’re sharing your emails, photos, videos, blogs and tweets with are not there. They are not next to you and don’t know how amazing the temple or river or elephant herd is that you’re checking out.

But if you can describe and show them what’s beyond their own frontiers of experience, is it still off the beaten track? Oz is a mysterious place. Definitely off the beaten track. But if Dorothy whips a camera out and blogs about what’s behind the curtain, aren’t we all beating the track in some way? Diminishing the quintessentially fantastical ‘otherness’ of it?

It’s a bit of an abstract and semantic question, but I think it’s a valid one. And everyone will have their own opinion.

Right now, at least, you can still jump on a plane, hop on a bus and within a certain amount of time you can be in a place that – for all practical purposes – is well and truly off the beaten track. Away from phone signals. Disconnected from satellite relays. We should probably be thankful for that.

Maybe the loss of all off-track frontiers, real or imaginary, is inevitable. But right now it’s still up to you how much you use technology. If you switch off your data connection regulalry, share less and save more for your own memories… then maybe the concept of getting off the beaten track has a future.

What do you guys think? Let me know in the comments and we can debate the issue (in a friendly, polite and cool way).

Before you travel, read the advice from the Foreign and Commonwealth Office

Check out volunteering placements abroad with Original Volunteers

Meet other travellers and plan your backpacking trip on gapyear.com

About the author

Andrew Tipp is a writer, blogger and editor. He’s spent more than a year backpacking and volunteering abroad, and used to work as a site editor for travel advice and community website gapyear.com.

"It's My Life 365" project. Brendan's work has been featured across the world in both press and on a variety of online productions.

Political Iran 101

ZachKuehner — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 09:08:27 +0000

Although I would likely have given Best Picture to Django Unchained, I thought Argo was a pretty good movie. It gave the viewer an understated but affecting sense of the political climate that led to the formation of the current Islamic Republic of Iran, and a suspenseful secret-rescue plot to boot. And I really don’t understand why Canadians were so vexed by Affleck’s directorial choice to go with the American-led extraction story instead of the Canadian ambassador-as-hero-harbourer one. I too would have liked to see the Canadian role in saving those six Americans at the centre – maybe a Canadian producer might think about making such a movie – but all in all, I’m not going to fault the film’s director for making the choice he did.

Where I feel Affleck did let us down was in the film’s text-based closing remarks. He rightly acknowledges the heroism of the then-Canadian Ambassador to the Kingdom of Iran in hiding six escaped American Embassy employees after that building was stormed and overtaken by supporters of the Ayatollah Khomeini. What was missing, however, was any comment on those Iranians (particularly the Canadian ambassador’s housekeeper) who also risked their lives to shelter those Americans and, more broadly, any acknowledgement of the current state of affairs within the troubled country. Maybe Affleck assumed that most Americans already know what’s going in present-day Iran – a very unwise assumption if that were the case – or maybe he simply wanted to avoid weighing in on the complex state of affairs that is present-day US-Iran relations. In either case, his failure to acknowledge how much things have changed since those fateful weeks in 1979 does a disservice to the Iranian people (and to those sorry but all-too-common individuals who get their political opinions from Hollywood).

The majority of chit-chat about Iran now concerns its pursuit (or not) of a nuclear bomb. I will leave any commentary about military intervention to a forthcoming article, but just so you have something to chew on, the evidence regarding Iran’s pursuit of nukes seems to point to the “not if, but when” side of things, regardless of what you might read in certain news publications. The “nuclear Iran” issue may be the most important foreign policy dilemma of the decade for the West (it almost certainly is that for Israel) but a lot has happened in Iran since the Islamic Revolution of 1979 that bears remembering if one is to begin to understand this pivotal Middle Eastern power.

The first thing to know is that the Islamic Revolution was not necessarily intended to be all that Islamic. Many of those Iranians demonstrating and fighting against the American-imposed Shah (King) were secularists and social democrats who wanted the modernizing but tyrannical rule of Reza Pahlavi brought to an end. Even the fanatical Ayatollah Khomeini, the spiritual symbol of resistance to the Shah, initially claimed that he was not a politician and did not disclose his plans to turn Iran into a howling theocracy until it was too late. So, it is important first and foremost to realize that the Iranian Revolution was in many ways a “revolution betrayed.” This fact goes a long way toward explaining the country’s current internal tensions, culminating in the Green Movement of 2009; the palpable nostalgia for the days of the Shah, however horrid those days could be; and the strongly pro-Western (and often pro-intervention) sentiment among young Iranians in particular.

Another important fact to assimilate is that Iran’s first eight years as an Islamic Republic were defined by a disgusting border war with Saddam Hussein’s Iraq – at the time, Israel was backing Iran, whilst the recently-embarrassed Americans preferred Mr. Hussein. In the years between 1980 and 1988, a couple million Iranians and Iraqis lost their lives in some of the most grotesque warfare the world had seen since the Second World War. Chemical and biological weapons were commonplace, land mines were used by both sides and, unbelievably for a country with such a cultured past, young Iranian men were sent out to clear minefields as would-be martyrs. One of the most affecting sites in all of Iran is the enormous cemetery in southern Tehran dedicated to the victims (I refuse to use the word “martyr” to describe victims of war, ever!) of this horrific conflict. Each fallen son is allotted a glass case in which one typically finds a picture of the victim, a knife, a Koran (ugh), a candle, and a picture of Ayatollah Khomeini! If this doesn’t strike you as grotesque, I don’t know what will. The Ayatollah’s giant mausoleum is located about a kilometre north and is one of the most visited sites in the country. This delusional, black-turbaned bastard lived to the ripe old age of eighty-six while the boys he sent to die for his fanaticism barely had the chance to begin. On a large banner overhanging Khomeini’s tomb are the words, conveniently translated into English, “We share the grief of all the downtrodden and support the oppressed people of the world.” I had trouble keeping down my lunch.

The Iran-Iraq war decimated the Iranian (and Iraqi) population. To compensate, Khomeini and his successors (Khomeini died shortly after the war ended) encouraged and incentivized “their” people to have large families, first to replenish the troops should the conflict become an even more protracted one, and second, to replenish the society itself. As many others have pointed out, the result of this high-birth-rate policy was to produce an inflated generation of young Iranians who, for reasons I take to be self-evident, hate the clerics that rule their country. In recent years, this hatred has led to a serious challenge to the clerical rule of the equally fanatical and cynical Ayatollah Khamenei (different spelling). In 2009, reformist presidential candidate Hossein Mousavi lost to conservative incumbent Ahmadinejad (the now-notorious “there are no gays in Iran” guy) in what so many Iranians – within the country and in the diaspora – saw as a stolen election. The protests that followed saw a ruthless crackdown on dissent and the imprisonment and torture of countless Iranians.

In the weeks leading up to our arrival, the Canadian government closed its embassy in Tehran for a variety of reasons, both acute and chronic (we were to turn to the Swedes if help was needed). Iran itself is in an economic tailspin as sanctions (imposed due to promiscuity in matters nuclear) and years of unsustainable government subsidies, akin to “bread and circus” inducements, take their toll. There is ample frustration to go around. People are jaded. There is an election looming and a new figurehead will soon be “voted” in. Young Iranians spoke of their pessimism toward the election, given that most of the progressive candidates remain in prison, and many feel that the office of the President means less than nothing, so long as the all-powerful Guardian Council of clerics retains veto power on all government decisions. To protect those Iranians who so generously agreed to share their opinions with me, I will have to be careful about what I say in the articles to follow. But what should be made crystal clear is that the majority of the Iranian people, especially the younger generations, are not their government, and have the most to lose (and to gain) in the fight for an Iran free from tyranny.

Follow Me:

Beyond Angkor Wat – Cambodia’s wild beauty

Brendan van Son — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 15:21:40 +0000

Cambodia’s Angkor Wat and the capital Phnom Penh have been popular add-ons for trips from neighbouring Vietnam and Thailand for a while, but now the country is getting to grips with tourism and is increasingly proud of its unspoilt wilderness. Many tour companies are organising vacations to Cambodia from America, Europe and other Asian destinations, making it easier than ever to visit this beautiful country.

The north east province of Monulkiri has lush, wild, mountainous jungle country inhabited by diverse ethnic tribes and extraordinary must-see wildlife, including tigers, elephants, eagles, gibbons and leopards. The region’s capital, Sen Mororom, is little more than a village, with a few guesthouses and bars to cater for the small number of tourists. Guesthouses are simple but spotlessly clean – Cambodians are renowned for their hospitality – and owners have partnerships with local eateries to provide a comfortable stay.

Just 45 km away is the Elephant Valley Project, part of the Elephants Livelihood Initiative Environment. The town’s tourist office can organise a trip to the project, which is expanding all the time and taking care of the regions working elephants. A visit includes a tour of the project, instruction on the creatures’ body language, and some short ‘test’ rides. If you enjoy these, you can take a longer ride out to a local waterfall and after a dip in the water you can help wash the elephants down.

The neighbouring province of Ratanakiri is the location of the Vicheray National Park. Home to some of the remotest tribes in Cambodia, the jungle here is inhabited by tigers, leopards, bears, wild dogs, and colourful wild birdlife. A knowledgeable and approved guide is vital to catch a glimpse of some of the more dangerous creatures!

Another natural wonder of the region is the Yaklom Crater Lake. This circular crystal clear lake is 800 meters across and up to 40 meters deep. Swimming is a must here and the atmosphere is peaceful, tranquil and simply stunning. You can combine a visit here with some of the walking and trekking available through the jungle surrounding the crater.

Cambodia also has fabulous beaches. On its mainland coast you have three beach communities Sihanoukville, Kep and Koh Kong. All have beautiful white sand and crystal clear waters and are very unspoilt. Ochheuteal, with its 5-mile stretch of sand, is the largest and most popular beach in the Sihanoukville region and has a lively strip of bars and cafes at one end, with chairs out front to relax and sip the local beer. At dusk, barbeques are lit and you can sample the excellent local seafood.

Kep was been popular with the wealthier Cambodians and European visitors since the turn of the 20^th century, before the Khmer Rouge era took its toll, and there are several colonial hill stations and villas left from that time. The beaches here are smaller and rockier than Sihanoukville but the seafood is second to none!

Koh Kong, the furthest north of the beach communities, has been a gambling area for some time, since casinos sprang up to cater to Thais crossing the border (gambling is illegal in Thailand). Now, however, the area is best known as a diving centre, with dive boats taking clients out to some of the beautiful reefs and islands nearby.

The country’s capital should not be ignored, either! Phnom Penh has a striking riverside location on the great Mekong and it’s great fun to shop and eat in its various markets and narrow streets. The city also has a plethora of museum sites offering an insight into the long and intense history of this fabulous country. The city has good connections for arrival into the country and for onward travel to its natural gems.

"It's My Life 365" project. Brendan's work has been featured across the world in both press and on a variety of online productions.

Welcome to the North: Newcastle, Australia

Ash Clark — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 15:41:04 +0000

Despite being frequently referred to as “Sydney’s bogan brother”, the locals of Newcastle have always repped their hometown with a fierce amount of pride – If there is a Novacastrian in your vicinity, I can guarantee it won’t be long before they let you know where they’re from.

Being situated about three hours drive north of Sydney, I never had much of a reason to spend much time in this coastal town. Just like much of New South Wales’ south coast, Newcastle is often overlooked and passed by Sydney holidaymakers heading further north for their vacations – something I am definitely guilty of myself.

Using the Sydney to Newcastle rail link, I recently decided to visit some close friends of mine who had opted out of the Sydney rat race and set themselves up in “Newy”.

Arriving at the ‘end of the line’, also known as Newcastle’s central train station, I quickly discovered the source of the local’s pride – Newcastle Beach. I wasn’t sure what was more impressive, the golden sands and turquoise waters of the beach, or the fact that I had arrived there after just a five minute walk from the centre of Newcastle’s historic downtown area.

In contrast to its natural beauty, what has really put Newcastle on the map is the huge amount of coal found in its surrounding region.

Right from its initial discovery in 1797, where coal became the first export of the young New South Wales colony, Newcastle grew to become the world’s largest coal exporting harbour.

The large scale of operations that are associated with such a massive industry gives a significant insight into the underlying dominance of working class culture within Newcastle society.

Walking through Newcastle’s downtown area, trendy cafes line the streets that are filled with a mix of Victorian era buildings and modern business centres. Despite its colonial heritage, Newcastle manages to portray a continual youthful vibe.

The day I arrived in Newcastle, I was greeted with perfect weather. As the sun started to hang lower in the afternoon sky, I decided to walk along the waterfront that links Newcastle beach to its neighbour, Nobby Beach.

Camera in hand, I was truly a tourist in my own country.

Part way, there is a public ocean water pool. As I sat on the far end ledge of this complex to take some photos of some local surfers who were taking advantage of the last few right-handers coming through before nightfall, a pod of dolphins glided through the surf. At this moment I wondered to myself if there was any other place that emulated the stereotypical image of this vast country?

Follow Me:

The New South Wales South Coast: Australia’s Best Kept Secret?

Ash Clark — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 13:40:16 +0000

If you had a group of Australian’s from Sydney together and asked them about their fondest childhood memories, I would bet the farm that a good chunk of them would include something to do with summer holidays in various locations along the North Coast of New South Wales.

I am definitely guilty of this myself. Family camping trips to places such as Lake Cathie just outside of Port Macquarie, is an example.

I guess there are a few factors that contribute to the North Coast’s popularity. Namely a subconscious thought that heading north means hotter weather and water along with the fact that most of the north coast’s major tourist hubs lie along the Pacific Highway, the major link between Sydney and Brisbane.

While the hoards head north for summer, one of New South Wales’ best-kept secrets lies only about 3-4 hours drive south of Sydney.

Keeping in theme with the same creative flare as the naming of its northern counterpart, the area I speak of is none other than the New South Wales South Coast.

The majority of my summer holidays and adolescent road trips may have been to the north, but the occasional ones that went south had me wondering why it wasn’t the more common option.

Unlike the north coast, this part of Australia’s eastern coastline isn’t on the direct route between Sydney and Melbourne, so if you’re one for avoiding crowds you’ll absolutely adore this part of the world.

I recently went to the regions main hub town, Batemans Bay to catch up with some friends who now live there.

With the Clyde River hugging it as it empties into the Tasman Sea, Batemans Bay is a tidy example of your typical Australian coastal fishing town. Its shops, restaurants, cafes and pubs filled with a balanced mix of locals, retirees and seasonal holidaymakers.

For me, the town’s main convenience is its close vicinity to what are arguably some of the country’s most spectacular parklands and beaches. Spending an afternoon checking a number of these out, most of them had me almost thinking I had wandered onto the manicured set of a commercial shoot for the Australian tourism board.

Any trip through New South Wales should involve the south coast at some point on its itinerary. If you ever do find yourself making your way through here, just be sure not to tell any of the locals that I sent you. I don’t want to be held responsible for contributing to letting their secret out.

Follow Me:

What’s Going on with Vagabundo?

Brendan van Son — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 09:48:52 +0000

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve received about a dozen emails from various people asking the same question: “what’s going on with Vagabundo Magazine?” Well, the simple answer is “Africa happened.”

As many of you know, I’m in the process of attempting to drive a scooter down the western length of the continent from Mali to South Africa. And while finding spare time hasn’t really been an issue, finding an internet connection has been. Wifi just isn’t a commonality around these parts, and the only other option for the most part has been to buy wifi USB sticks which charge by the megabyte. In creating a magazine, the amount of file sharing via various people is so substantial that it would cost me a small fortune to produce a single magazine.

The second problem is less of an issue than it is a challenge. You see, the magazine grew much faster than I ever imagined it would. And perhaps I wasn’t ready for my little baby to turn into a full grown teenager that I’d have to spend hours delegating assignments to. Touring around Africa while producing the product has made it nearly impossible to do all that is necessary.

Thus, the simple solution has been to put things on hold. We’re not only hold for a year or even six months. We are just on hold until I can get through the Congolese jungles and into countries like Namibia and South Africa where I will have more time online.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that the magazine needs a home. All of us who contribute to this magazine are nomadic, and well it makes for some brilliant content, it makes it very difficult for anyone to delegate and organize. In the fall of this year I will be searching for a home for the magazine, somewhere that I can base myself while undertaking shorter adventures of my own, and where contributors can come and share ideas or just rest their weary travel legs.

Finally, I’ve realized some flaws in our process. From the delivery of our magazine itself to the process in which we operate the blog, there will be a number of changes that we are going to be working on from now until the re-launch. I’m positive that the product that results is going to be well worth the wait.

The next issue of this magazine was slated to go live at the start of this month. For the time being, it has been delayed until the start of July. I hope you all understand the situation and can wait until that next issue goes live.

Thank you all for your understanding and support.

Editor-in-Chief,

Brendan van Son

"It's My Life 365" project. Brendan's work has been featured across the world in both press and on a variety of online productions.

The “Must See’s” of Costa Brava

Ash Clark — Tue, 02 Apr 2013 11:32:00 +0000

Well who’d of thunk it? Occasionally putting up with the Dad jokes from our Vagabundo bossman, Brendan van Son, sometimes has its perks.

Recently I got to rep the V-bag team on a trip through Catalonia, an autonomous state found in the north-eastern part of Spain.

I am lucky enough to be able to say that this was my second time to Spain, but aside from spending a few days in Barcelona the first time I was there, this was my first time having a real look at what Catalonia has to offer.

Seeing as the region is a summertime hotspot for much of Europe’s rich and famous, who come to fill the many luxury villas of Costa Brava, it often means many of the area’s unique towns and villages are overlooked by the hoards of backpackers that make their way through Spain each year.

Those who do decide to make a trip to Costa Brava work for them are in for a treat, as the area is rich with a unique history and culture that leaves its own distinctive twist to almost every aspect of its social fabric.

Here are a few of the highlights from my time in Costa Brava:

Cadaqués

The locals of this picturesque fishing village have a saying that when you come here, “You leave your worries behind the mountains.” This saying definitely comes alive as you make your way to the seaside town from the winding roads of the mountains that surround it.

As one walks along the cobbled laneways that wind their way through the towns white washed buildings, you are left with no questions of being on the Mediterranean coast. Cadaqués lies midway on the Cap de Creus peninsular, the most easterly point of Spain. Sailing along this coastline gives spectacular views that won’t be forgotten any time soon.

Girona

Walking into Girona for the first time was quite a sight. The colourful flats that line the Onyar River were glowing in the morning sun, causing their bright colours to reflect off the river Onyar that winds through the heart of the city, the town’s skyline dominated by the bell tower of the Sant Feliu Church.

This fiercely proud Catalonian town is a great place for delving into the history that makes this region so unique.

Castellfollit de la Roca

Arriving at this town, all my Game of Thrones Christmases came at once!

Coming from a country that was settled by Europeans just over 200 years ago, we basically class anything that’s older than the 1980’s as an antique.

Despite being one of the smallest towns in Catalonia, Castellfollit de la Roca has a massive presence. Sitting on the edge of a 50m cliff, its well worth making your way to the far end of the town where you can climb the Sant Salvador church’s bell tower and really grasp how incredible this place is.

Besalu

The grandeur of Besalu meets you right at its entrance. Without a doubt, Besalu’s shining feature is its 12^th century bridge and gate tower, which bends across Fluvia River.

Being a strategic trading point and once capital of Besalu county, Besalu received significant amounts of infrastructure throughout its long history. Today, most of the town’s significant buildings have been fully restored including landmarks significant to Catalonia’s exiled Jewish community.

______________

The Culture of Catalonia is so rich that it’s hard to find any facet of its society that isn’t stamped with its own unique Catalan flare. The level to which the people of this region pride themselves with their history, language and culture ensures that those who visit here will leave with some incredibly unique memories and experiences.

Follow Me: