Remembering Yerevan
Apr25

Remembering Yerevan

“You know what day it is today?” I ask. “Hm? No,” mumbles Hrach, his mind adrift in the Internet. “Yeah, you do. Come on, look at the date.” “Thursday?” volunteers our flatmate Ed. “The date! The date!” Hrach sighs and hovers his mouse over the bottom-right corner of the screen. “Yeah yeah, I know. I knew that. I knew what date it is today.” This time last year, Hrach, two other friends and I were walking to the Tsitsernakaberd...

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Three German Wagon Communities
Mar29

Three German Wagon Communities

There are thought to be around 100 wagenplatze, or ‘wagon places’, across Germany: intentional communities of people living autonomously in old wagons. I visited three of them during a road trip across Europe in early 2010. Barricade Göttingen We found Barricade Göttingen late in the evening after driving around the outskirts of the city, following contradictory directions. We wandered around a small scrap of wasteland...

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Exploring the Catacombs of Paris
Mar21

Exploring the Catacombs of Paris

It’s around 8pm on a Wednesday night, and I’m walking with some friends down a busy boulevard in one of the most chic neighborhoods in Paris — the16eme. One of my friends — whom I’ll refer to as Drakael — approaches a sewer in front of a little cafe terrace, inserts a metal key into the pothole, ties a rope around his waist, and, with surprising technical expertise, lifts the 40-pound lid: open...

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Diving Hip-First Into Vienna’s Art World
Mar06

Diving Hip-First Into Vienna’s Art World

Sarah Lucas is easy to spot in a crowd of Viennese art lovers. They are mostly Aryan folk in merino wool scarves, leather gloves, and fine tweed jackets, aired by the kind of audacious pomp you’d expect from bourgeois Europeans. She, a British artist, has stringy blonde hair, an English smile, and a thick wool overcoat hiding her hands in the sleeves. Though she was the woman of the hour — the international guest, and the...

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Guerrilla Camping in France
Feb25

Guerrilla Camping in France

It’s festival season in southern France. I was told to come here by my previous Workaway host, as I’d find the kind of chaos and drunken debauchery reminiscent of Pamplona during La Corrida in Spain. I was assured there’d be an abundance of wine, sleeping in the streets, and exuberant crowds wearing red and white. Having planned poorly (aka, not at all), I arrive in Biarritz having just missed a festival, and not quite in time for the...

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