Stowaway nonspread

alternative spring break

the truth about ghana

ANti-TOURISM

making the most of those few days off

What it means to be a traveler instead

An account you won’t find in a travel guide

March 2009Issue 1

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Editor in ChiefGage Norris

ASSISTANT EditorDana Filek-Gibson

Art DirectorKathryn Digilio

STAFF Writers Meagan Dobson Mickey Mouse

Online EditorJimi Hendrix

PublisherCarr, Inc.

Stowaway Magazine180 Tremont StreetBoston, MA 02116

Feel free to sned your letters and submit your work to our address (above), via our forums at http://stowaway.com/submit or through email

to [email protected]

All items in this issue © Stowaway Magazine, 2009

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photo by: Lali Masriera

in this issue

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Sojourn

Survive

share

hooking up abroad

backpack style

akwaaba to ghana

Alternative Spring Break

a second family

budgeting advice

At A Loss For Words

"Are we there yet?"

Travel Bloopers

If I could go anywhere

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editor's letter

traveler or tourist?

stowaway.com user photos

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letter from the editorRobert Louis Stevenson, perhaps best known for his novel “Treasure Island,” also penned a series of essays on travel; one of them entitled “The Stowaways.” In the essay, he describes a sea voyage during which he witnessed half a dozen stowaways uncovered by the ship’s captain. Stevenson probably didn’t know what to make of the poor “lads” at first, but he spends the better part of a page describing their “careers of adventure.” Being the well-dressed, well-mannered Englishman that he was, he also makes sure to point out that the stowaways were “impudent and thievish, or else dead-broke.” I think Stevenson was only half right.

Welcome to the first issue of Stowaway.

Our goal is to provide you, reader, with the tools you need to travel efficiently and ethically anywhere you want to go. We believe that wanderlust is chronic, but curable. We believe that travel means more than just visiting a place—it means experiencing it. We also know that while you won’t do anything illegal to get where you’re going, you’re also not the type to be flying first class to get there. We get it. And we’re here to help.

In this first Spring Break edition, you’ll get advice and tips from seasoned travelers but also some insights from your peers: how to get around the language barrier in Germany, what to bring on a day-long trek in Ghana, where to go instead of the typical French cafes, how to get off the beaten path and do it for cheap.

You don’t have to invest a lot to get a great experience. In fact, when it comes to traveling, spending less often leads to a more compelling voyage. So read on, grab your gear, and suit up.

Safe travels. Gage Norris

When I travel to a new place, I don't pack a guidebook, or a list of the top ten things to see and do. I stay away from taxis. I even shy away from places like museums or monuments. I try my best to stay off the beaten path, and act like I’ve lived there all my life. Antiguan author Jamaica Kincaid wrote about American tourists as “ugly human beings”—people who seek out the pleasures of inauthentic cultural commodities. While this image is a bit extreme, it does have roots in fact, and it is the stigma I try to avoid. “Abroad, Americans can come off more as consumers than connoisseurs,” writes Carolyn McCarthy, a writer for the Lonely Planet series. Other travel writers agree. “For sure the biggest stereotypes about American tourists are that they try to pack in too much in too little time, and that they aren’t very adventurous about getting off the beaten path,” writes Leslie Brokaw, author of the annual Frommer’s Guide to Montreal and Quebec City. She also notes that Americans do no favors to themselves or their country when they tour grand plazas wearing sneakers, baseball caps, rude tee shirts and too much sun block. All these images and behaviors can be lumped into what I will call “touring.” Touring is an illusion in all aspects save for the cost of the plane ticket. It provides no rest or relaxation, since you spend the majority of it on a bus or in a taxi, trying to reach as many landmarks as possible. Tourists also receive little to no cultural knowledge or exposure, since their agendas typically consist of destinations recommended by the local chamber of commerce. Tourism is, at best, an industry. The alternative to touring is what I will call “traveling.” Traveling means taking public transportation instead of taxi. It means dressing respectfully. It means making an effort to engage locals in discussions that, as McCarthy says, “let them see you more than your stereotype.” Most of all, it means taking your time. Brokaw says travel is a skill that can be learned with practice—if one has the time to devote to it. “I think that once you’re not desperate to see every Italian city at least once before you die, you feel more at ease with the idea of spending time in one place and getting to know a little about it beyond the locations that show up on postcards,” she writes. The rewards for travelers are many.

Tourist or traveler?

dana filek-gibson, 20accra, ghana

chloe medghelchi, 18dubrovnik, croatia

Jordan Mortan, 22Bangcock, Thailand

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Brokaw describes a trip her parents took to Paris. Instead of rushing to all the monuments and landmarks on the map, they stayed in the same small town for weeks, and went to the same café for breakfast each morning. While at first the owners were wary of them, the efforts that Brokaw’s parents made to connect with the locals were well received, and the owners soon warmed up to them. Engaging the locals while traveling also has its monetary benefits, especially, McCarthy says, south of the border. “Here in Latin America the common perception is gringo equals plata (money), particularly in places with a high flow of tourists,” she writes. “That may mean easy money—convincing you to take a tour, or pay too much for that woolen sweater.” Even the backpackers who travel light are pestered for money, since they’ve at least had the funds to purchase a plane ticket. McCarthy has frequently been at the receiving end of such perceptions, and stresses the importance of making efforts to speak the native language. “A taxi driver tried to way over-charge me for a short trip in Salvador, Brazil,” she writes. “We negotiated when I got in the cab. My Portuguese is pretty bad but he understood Spanish and I asked why he was charging so steeply. After all, I rooted for Brazil in the world cup. He liked that. I didn’t get the locals’ fare, but it was much closer.” Most importantly, traveling allows you to experience your own version of a place, rather than a tour or guidebook’s. Tourists often feel that if they miss out on the Eiffel Tower or Big Ben, the trip will have been a waste. They set themselves up for failure. Once, after watching a movie filmed at a castle on the coast of Wales, Brokaw and her husband decided to plan an entire trip around getting to the castle. “The fun part was that it was such a quirky way to decide a game plan,” she writes. “it was very random, but worked out great, and got us to both cities and small villages, onto teeny local buses that drove past fields of sheep, and into a nice little B&B.” They eventually made it to the castle, and, since it was closed during the off-season, contented themselves with touching the sides of its massive stone walls. American science-fiction writer Ursula K. LeGuin once wrote, “It is good to have an end to journey towards; but it is the journey that matters in the end.”

Tourist or traveler?resisting the tourist image

by gage norris

adidas jones, 22berlin, germany

katie egan, 25bruges, belgium

alana olsen, 20rekjavik, iceland

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So you're getting hot and heavy with some guy/girl/android in the back of a crowded Parisian club and you can't help wondering what's French for "come back to my hostel with me?" Before you “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?” your partner in sordid crime, you might want to think of these simple hook-up do’s and don’t’s when it comes to travel sex.

If you and your partner don’t speak the same language…Some may call this a minor obstacle, but you should consider it a major one. You may not consider how much verbal communication goes on when getting intimate with someone, after all words pale in comparison to la passion, but there are a few important questions. If you’re in town for more than a few days and you plan on hooking up learning the local speak for “Your place or mine?” or more importantly “Do you have a condom?”/“I have a condom” will be helpful and will clear up more than gestures. Sexual health shouldn’t be a game of charades.

If you’re unfamiliar with the culture…It may be inappropriate to assume making out will lead to sex. This will even vary between rural and urban areas. For example, in countries like the Netherlands, hooking up in a club in Amsterdam will lead much further than in smaller Dutch cities like Maastricht or Njimegen where promiscuity is looked at differently. If you don’t know the local custom or what your partner is comfortable with, communicate or error on the side of caution.

If you’re staying in a hostel…Taking a partner to bed is perfectly acceptable in most hostels, especially if you have a private room. Check your hostel’s policy on guests before you go ahead though as sometimes, extra charges or angry hostel owners can greet

you in the morning. If you’re staying in a dormitory type room, but be courteous to your roommates.

Many of your roommates will want sleep during the night hours, and regardless of

your comfort level with exhibitionism it makes for an uncomfortable situation altogether if you decide to be intimate in front of them.

If you’re traveling alone…It’s a good idea to never go off without anyone knowing where

you are. In many cities seduction is a common pick pocket ploy (usually

targeting men). In others, the percentage of sexual assault with foreigners as victims

can be startlingly high. It’s a good idea to protect yourself (pepper spray, even perhaps a

small concealed weapon) and know the best way to contact proper authorities should something go wrong.

If you’re traveling with a friend…Never leave without touching base. If you decide to split up, make sure you have a way to keep in touch and a game plan to meet back up again. They can be both your safety net and you can be theirs, even if you’re not playing the buddy-system.

Hooking up abroadReal life advice

By Kathryn Digiliophoto by Merlin Bronques

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Are you anxious to take part in a unique excursion during your weeklong Spring Break hiatus? Why not take up with a host family and try your hand at an agricultural experience? Take this one student’s experience on a farm in Central France as a cultural experience quite the opposite to the typical Cancun beach break.

“Do you want to go to the la ferme for vacation,” Claire, my host mother, proposed? My host family and I were about to make a trip to a typical French farm. I had been living with them for a few months now, but never had I thought I’d find myself on a farm with them. Now I am no expert at agriculture expertise of any sort, and I don’t particularly like cows or pigs, but hey, it’s not every day that one gets this opportunity. We piled into Claire’s tiny car en route for an experience I wasn’t sure I’d admire or detest. Hours passed by in the tiny car, green fields of various crops passed by, and eventually we descended down a long dirt road. The cows appeared in various groups along the sides of the drive. An old red barn marked the descent toward the rest of the farm, and we pulled up amongst a cluster of aged buildings. Claire parked her tiny vehicle next to a building that housed a years worth of stacked hay, Jeremy, my host brother of the same age, Oceane, my younger host sister, and I hopped out. I tagged behind Jim, as I often did when we took an excursion such as this. Claire led us all up the front steps toward her cousin’s

front porch? The two greeted us at the front door. I don’t recall their names so I am just going to refer to them as “The Mr.,” and “The Mrs.” The Mrs. was wearing an old bright blue sweater that she still had on three days later upon our departure. She asked us if we’d like some coffee and proceeded to pour, thought it tasted like it had been brewed three weeks ago, it still woke me up from the many hours that had just been spent in a tiny car. We then parked ourselves around the large dinner table that was located in the center of the kitchen. The dinner table in France is a place where many spend the majority of their time. One cannot pass by the home of an acquaintance without, at the very least, being served up a refreshment of some sort. The Mrs. showed me my bed for the next couple of nights. I really don’t understand how she expected me to sleep in it. In the center there was a curve that resembled a half pipe at the ski sloped. I assumed the Mrs. figured “hey, she can’t speak our native language all that well, she won’t know the difference between a good bed and bad.”Next, we took a walk around the farm. Oceane declared that she was going to sleep in the hay for the night. She told me it was normal in France and that I was weird if I didn’t do it too. I did not believe her but figured a sleep in the hay would be better for my back than that bed. I took pictures of the huge oven that was once used to make bread. Then we went and got the milk from the cows. The Mr. convinced me to take a hand at milking the cow. I hesitated. This was no small animal. Never in

alternative spring breakBy meagan dobson

Other spring break alternatives

Habitat: NOLA is a subsidiary organization of Habitat for Humanity that specializes in rebuilding the New Orleans areas destroyed by Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

Volunteer with their organization and spend your time for a worthy cause in a rebuilding city with tons of nightlife and the college communities of Tulane and Loyola New Orleans.

http://www.habitat-nola.org

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my life had I ever been that close to a cow, the thing was enormous. I pictured the cow taking a mad dash in my direction, but hey, it’s not every day you get the chance to milk a cow. I watched one of the employees attach some sort of automatic milking device to the animal’s udders and the warm milk flowed out into a large metal storage container- keeping the milk at a set temperature. There were hundreds of these storage containers neatly organized through out the barn. We sat around the table and the Mrs. pulled out a large chicken that had been roasting in the oven for a few hours. I was sad at first because I had just seen the cute little ducklings running around outside. We had bread, wine, cheese, and all the other fixings, all straight from the land. After the meal the Mrs. brought out some chestnuts that she had previously warmed in a frying pan upon the stove. I had never had these before, but had heard that they could be eaten in this fashion. They were actually quite delicious. A doorway off the kitchen led to a small room where the Mr. kept many bottles of the chestnut wine he had produced. I believe I saw him drinking it for breakfast one morning. After a little sleep, I wondered if someone had come into my room and hit me over the back with a baseball bat, it ached like no other. Fortunately, I was immediately relieved by the warm milk and honey I was served for breakfast. Then I was informed by Jeremy that we were

going to work with the Mr. What am I in for, I thought? My back was already quite sore. We went out to the tractor and the Mr. commanded me to drive. I climbed up on this large piece of machinery and as I shifted through the gears the Mr. shoveled the

hay off the back for the cows. Jeremy stood up next to me on the tractor and helped to instruct me, he had done this before. We spent two hours out on that tractor. Never knowing what kind of situation I will be thrust into,

I must be willing to engage in it regardless of my first impression. The most interesting part of experiencing farm life, even if it was only for a few days, was seeing the daily production of goods and how they supported the household. Most people today just go to the grocery store for what they need, but I think much more joy can be found in completing the entire process on one’s own.

This is just one student’s account of an atypical spring break. Many families in many countries host students at all times of the year. Staying with a native family is the best way to pick up a new language, or truly have an “out of the box” experience. Aside from a short week with a host family, maybe you are more interested in a year, or semester abroad? Or perhaps someday you’d like to host an exchange student yourself.

alternative spring break

Most people today just go to the grocery store for what they need, but I think much more joy can be found in completing the

entire process on one's own.

Volunteer Abroad is a great resource if you want to travel and help out during your free time. Often expenses such as shelter are covered as incentive for your help. Travel, however, is often not included.

http://www.volunteerabroad.com/

Travel Domestically. Don’t stress about getting far away for the week, it’s pricey and may not be ideal. If you plan accordingly, a week’s getaway to a smaller city or a park destination may be just the ticket for a cheaper, but still great, experience. For deals, check StudentUniverse.

http://studentuniverse.com

Let's face it, it’s not easy to look put together when you’re dressing in a hostel and living out of a backpack. Living as a long-term traveler or packing light can take its toll on your fashion sense: comfort always gets chosen over looking cute, in the end. After all you’re there to see not necessarily be seen, but you don’t have to sacrifice your style altogether. Here are some ways to pack a few essentials, do a little more washing, but pull off some versatile looks with little material.

It’s essential you continue to carry a little black dress, but keep it jersey and in a great cut. If you’ve got this article of clothing in the bag, you’ve got nicer dinners and relaxed nights covered. To wear this multiple times on a trip rotate in different accessories with the dress: statement earrings, a longer necklace, a fun belt, or colored sandals all accentuate the dress without taking away from its comfort or versatility.

Another essential item in your wardrobe should be jeans and a few t-shirts, plain if possible. Never underestimate the power of a v-neck. Since you probably

live in your blue jeans anyway, a great way to look like you’re not wearing the same thing every day is to just rotate out t-shirts and different belts or even just belt buckles.

When it comes to shoes, all you need is two pairs – girls, I’m looking at you. When you’re doing the bulk of your traveling, wear sneakers. Touring museums and the many miles of walking require support to prevent foot and back problems. One other pair of weather-appropriate (if it’s warm, sandals, if it’s colder, close-toed shoes) “going out” shoes is all you need. These should be enough to navigate you through bars and nicer establishments.

For spring, nothing jazzes up an outfit, rotates easily through neutrals, and punches up your fashion quota like a few scarves. Lightweight silk-like scarves can be tied in a number of different ways and provide a compact and cheap way to accessorize simply. Different lengths and patterns will provide a great second wardrobe to layer over your basics and provide an alternative to a jacket over lightweight sweaters to keep warm.

backpackfashionBy Kathryn Digilio

Fresh Ways to wear your scarves

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When I told people I was going to study abroad in Ghana, their first reaction was as follows: “Wow! That’s great!... So, where is Ghana exactly?” Though most Americans – and admittedly myself – are not experts on West Africa, Ghana is an incredible and vibrant country with plenty to offer and, from the moment I landed in the Ghanaian capital of Accra, I knew I’d made the right decision.

Akwaaba to Ghana

By Dana Filek-Gibson

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Akwaaba to Ghana

School: Not your average classroom Through New York University in Ghana, classes at the tiny but well-equipped NYU Academic Center in Labone give students the opportunity to study subjects like history, music, and even filmmaking, while putting the resources of Accra to good use. Students are also able to get a feel for Ghanaian education by taking classes at the University of Ghana; I took a French class at UG and, of the 150 students in the room, I was the only obruni (foreigner). It was quite the experience!

Nightlife: Hiplife, Highlife, and Star Beer On Wednesdays, the most popular place to be is Labadi Beach, where a weekly Reggae Night is held. Labadi offers live music, cheap drinks, and an incredible view of the ocean. Thursday nights are best spent at Bywel’s Bar in Osu. Literally a room with four walls and no ceiling, Bywel’s live band plays Ghana’s signature highlife music all night long. If you’re looking for something more like home head to Afrodisiac, a Western-style nightclub. Just be careful not to pull a fashion don’t and show up in your chale wotes (flip-flops) – they’ll probably laugh at you and you won’t be let in.

Culture: Life in Accra Living in Accra is nothing like the common assumptions of Africa – nobody lives in a mud hut and, though it’s prone to breakdowns, the city has electricity, Internet, and running water. While the traditional rural lifestyle still exists in the villages, Accra is a bustling metropolitan city with African roots. An absolute must for obrunis visiting Accra is Ghanaian food – though some dishes are more of an acquired taste, like kenkey and banku, made from fermented maize or cassava, foods like waakye (rice and beans) or red red (plantains and beans in palm oil) are spicy, delicious, and worth every pesewa of their two-cedi price tags.

Language: Wote Twi anaa? Though the functional language of Ghana is English, most Ghanaians speak a native language as well. In Accra, most locals speak Twi and, because bargaining is an integral part of daily life, it’s probably best to save your cedis and learn some useful phrases. Even if you only speak a bit, Ghanaians will appreciate your attempt and likely be amused by an obruni speaking their language.

Akwaaba: Welcome (response: Yoo)ɛEtEɛsEn?: “How are you?” (Ghanaians love to test obrunis with this question and see how much you know. The appropriate response is “ɛyɛ.”)MepaakyE ɛw: Please.Medaase: Thank you.

Places You Can’t Miss in AccraKokrobite: About 45 minutes outside the city, Kokrobite is easily accessible by tro-tro or taxi. This locals-only beach is home to fishermen and a handful of other Ghanaians. Much cleaner and less crowded than the city beaches, Kokrobite is the average tropical paradise and an excellent way to spend an afternoon.

James Town: One of Accra’s poorest neighbourhoods, James Town is an eye-opening experience. Just a walk through the narrow alleys of James Town offers up plenty of Accra’s rich history and provides insight into the side of life not found in upper-class neighbourhoods like Labone or the Cantonments.

Makola Market: Probably the best place to get a feel for Accra is Makola. This crowded, multi-story marketplace is the heart and soul of the city and the place to find literally anything from food to music to clothing to tro-tros.

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I wo u ld n't have th o u ght a Do dge N eo n co u ld be co nsi d ered a n a ll-t er r a i n-v eh i c le, b u t a p pa r en t ly I was w ro n g.There it was with five passengers, struggling up the mountain road, kicking up clouds of parched red dust, the poor little engine whining and whimpering constantly, taking on much more than its fair share. It stopped every so often, occasionally for a flock of mottled-looking sheep or a herd of cows, other times for the topes- large speed bumps that seemed to be constructed of whatever was available at the time. That brave, willing little car could have climbed Mount Everest. We were in Mexico, on a nameless dirt road somewhere outside of Mexico City, on our way to visit a community of Nahua- an indigenous Mexican people. I was traveling with my dad and his three friends, Mario, Laura, and Nydia. Their mission was to spread some awareness to these communities about the non-profit organization NewEarth, which provides funding to registered communities to be used for sustainable development, and to bring some computers to the village as well. Mine was just to observe, soak up as much as I could, and maybe learn something along the way. We pulled to the top of the mountain, and I stared at view. The lone road wove snakelike down the mountainside, its brown coils eventually falling out of sight as it neared Mexico City. Off in the distance was an enormous volcanic mountain, rising up above a stagnant sea of sunken clouds. Still glancing back to stare at the view, I was led to a typical Nahua midday meal, courtesy of an old, wrinkled but still agile grandmother.I stepped into the small wood hut that was their home and observed while I ate the tortillas nervously, unsure about the unexpected hospitality. It was sparsely furnished, but obviously not by choice: a radio, clock, a few grainy photographs nailed to holes in the cement wall, some on an old counter. The village was composed of houses the size of the living room in my house in Maine, but attempting to house a family twice the size of my own. I felt confused, disordered, and embarrassed. Here I was, voluntarily taking advantage of these impoverished peoples’ lunch, unable to effectively voice my gratitude in a language that

they understood, and they didn’t seem to mind in the least. In fact, they stared at me, out of amazement or fear: I wasn’t sure which. Marilyn, a petite brown child about seven years old, clad in a dirty white shirt with a pink flower on the front, decided we were going to be best friends for the day. She led me straight to her pride and joy: her garden. She rattled off a constant commentary in Spanish that I wished I understood. She rubbed the skin of my arm curiously, obviously expecting it to flake off and reveal the light even brown underneath, just like hers. When I kneeled to examine her budding chile plants, murmuring muy bien, muy bien in a terrible attempt to make sense in

a Spanish accent, she grabbed me in a small but genuine bear hug. Returning my amiga’s curious embrace, I finally realized what the main cause of my earlier confusion had been: I had not seen a single person in the village that wasn’t smiling or laughing. In spite of the Nahua’s situation, they were genuinely happy- a type of satisfaction in life I had never witnessed before. Close to tears, I realized how incredibly different I was. Out of respect for my new friend I kept myself from crying, but I almost wished I could. I felt guilty. These people revered the United States, idolized it. I could

tell from Laura’s translations that it was like a kind of Promised Land in their eyes. The village had very few adult men still around, since most of them had taken to leaving their families to work in the larger urban cities to the south or even, if they were lucky, Laura said, to the States. But ironically, I envied them. Maybe it was my own naiveté, but the people in the village, if they felt any longing to leave, certainly did not show it. They seemed to derive happiness from within themselves, and I knew that were I in their situation, I would not have been smiling. As we piled into the Dodge once again, the entire village came to send us off. We drove slowly out of necessity, but it served to provide me a long glimpse of Marilyn’s garden. We navigated our way down the mountain, Laura apologizing sincerely to her willing little car, with Spanish farewells echoing in my ears and the sincere grins of the entire village only just beginning to fade in my mind.

In spite of the nahua's situation, they were genuinely happy- a type of satisfaction in life I had never

witnessed before.

At a Loss for Words Words and photo by Gage Norris

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ARE WE THERE YET?travel "b lo o pers" fro m r ead ers li ke yo u

It was my first day on German soil, a few days before my study abroad program began and I decided to explore Berlin the best I could on my own. Armed with a map, a guide book, and my budding knowledge of the German language, I set out into the streets, successfully making it to Checkpoint Charlie on my own before deciding to head back to my hostel. Turning around over and over again I realized how badly I was lost and decided to follow a very important looking sign (with requisite arrow) that said “Einbahnstraße“. Assuming this meant the main highway, I figured I’d be able to find my way from that road, or at least get a cab, but one sign led to another which lead to another, all saying “Einbahnstraße” with an arrow pointing this way and that way. By sheer luck, I ran across a cab and headed back to my hostel, angry and upset I hadn’t been able to find the highway. It wasn’t until exploring the city a few days later with a fluent German friend that I learned just

what “Einbahnstraße” really meant... one way street.

On a recent trip to Switzerland, my family planned a daylong excursion to a ski resort on the border of the Alps. We were all especially excited because our travel book said there would be a chocolate factory within walking distance of the base lodge. We set out in high spirits, but my mom lost her purse (passport included) on the train ride to the mountains. Then, mom in hysterics (and the rest of us following suit), we arrived at the base lodge, which turned out to be closed for the off-season. We walked to the chocolate factory with tear-streaked cheeks, only to find it converted into luxury apartments. We bought pocketknives in an attempt to ease the disappointment. It didn’t work.

Reebok McCoy, 22portland, maine

gavin schwen, 19boulder, colorado

Do you have a travel blooper to share? An embarrassing moment that happened on the road? Let us know.

e-mail your 200-word stories to [email protected]

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