Frayed Passport

Quarterly Journal

April – The Sustainable Travel Issue

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Table of Contents Voluntourism Hurts

Theory and Practice: A First-Time Volunteer Visits Costa Rica Indonesia: The Orangutans of Bukit Lawang

Embracing Adversity: Why Miserable Moments Make for Your Best Travel Writing Seven Ways to Overcome the Pitfalls of Self-Editing

Travel Writing Tip: Begin Your Essays in Medias Res A Good Writer is a Good Observer

VOLUNTOURISM HURTS By Mark Denega “I think Mark is going to cry.”

Lacie Michaelson, a student leader of our Stonehill College alternative spring break group, chided me three months before we left for San Juan de Lurigancho, Peru—the most populous, and one of the poorest districts of Lima. I sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a circle of desks, eagerly waving my camcorder at twenty students who were unsure why some stranger wanted to film their service trip. It was understandable, then, that few felt compelled to discuss the emotional effects of coming face-to-face with abject poverty for the first time.

I let down the camera. Moments earlier, to ease the tension, I had promised the room that if anyone cried on camera, I would remove it from the film upon request. Now, after Lacie’s declaration, it seemed like a good opportunity to further close the divide between them and me.

I turned to Lacie and agreed with her, unequivocally. “Oh yeah, you’re probably right,” I said. “I’m a crier.”

It was the first day filming my documentary H.O.P.E. Was Here, which follows these students to Peru in an attempt to discover whether trips like theirs are actually a force for good. It’s a debate that still rages as voluntourism continues to boom. First-Timer

At the time, I had never volunteered or even really traveled abroad (neither Puerto Rico nor the Canadian side of Niagara Falls count). In my research, though, I read all about “the experience” that people have while working overseas in impoverished places. I read about the culture shock and the newfound appreciation for life, family, and everyday luxuries like running water and a roof to sleep under. All of these things, as I understood, added up to an eye-opening week that transforms people, and sometimes has them watery-eyed before the plane ride home.

While, admittedly, I do cry more than most men, I wondered if my statement to Lacie would prove true.

FILMING REAL LIFE Documentary filmmaking is, in part, a guessing game; you prepare as well as you can and hope to be there with the camera rolling when incredible things happen. With just six days to film in Peru, I over-planned my shoots. Using insight from Peace of Me, the memoir by Travis Kumph that inspired the film, I made a blueprint for the trip. I mapped out a narrative trajectory of the week and noted every important moment I could possibly predict. I was ready to make a movie, and felt both confident and empowered.

Ego

These feelings inflated when the trip began. At the Atlanta airport, when the overhead luggage space filled up before our flight to Lima, other passengers’ belongings were tagged and thrown under the plane, but not my camera equipment. The flight crew wielded my bag through the cabin with purpose, determined to get me and my things where they needed to go.

“We have to make space for this,” said one attendant. “He’s filming their mission!” That’s right, I thought, I’m an important man doing important work. Please accommodate.

On the bus from the airport to the Peyton Center, the multi-story community center where we stayed, there was more of the same. The students chatted loudly and gazed out the windows, and I sat behind my camera with the same kind of excitement. There I was, young and traveling and getting my big film career off the ground. I was living my dream.

Stick To The Plan For the next week, I followed the students as they moved between the volunteer sites—a grade school called Fe y Alegria and a rehabilitation center called Yancana Huasy—and then back to the Peyton Center where we retreated to comfortable beds, modern showers, and elaborate meals prepared by the professional cooking staff. Each day brought new adventure and more boxes checked off my shot list.

My pre-planning worked well, and I was satisfied with the footage. I caught some great things on camera, some anticipated and others not. I also spent quality time with the students, who became

more than just movie characters, but peers who I admired and respected. For the most part, though, I hid safely behind the camera, using it to guard myself when I didn’t have the courage to speak Spanish to a local or do anything else that seemed too uncomfortable. PRODUCTION WINDING DOWN

Our last day was for good-byes. We brought thank-you offerings to the staff at Fe y Alegria, Yancana Huasy, and the Peyton Center. Before hitting the road, half of us made one last stop. We visited Jhonny, a happy-go-lucky security guard at the Peyton Center, who was everyone’s favorite new friend. He’d invited us into his two-room house with an aluminum roof, nestled among the overcrowded slums that sprawl across big, dirt mountains around the wealthier, central part of Lima. He wanted us to see and touch the reality of living in poverty, which, as it turns out, is much different than the first-world amenities we enjoyed at Peyton. Please, Come In

When we arrived at the door we caught Jhonny straightening up for us. He’d been sweeping the dusty cement floor and collecting half-deflated balloons scattered about the room, left over from his daughter’s fourth birthday party. He greeted us with great warmth, hugging every person and remembering every name. He asked us to sit, then stood before us and thanked us all from the bottom of his heart. He explained how happy we’d made him and his daughter, Minerva, by coming from the U.S. to spend time with them, albeit briefly. He told us that we were welcome to stay at his home any time. We Are The World

For the next two hours, we passed around a guitar, sang songs, laughed, and drank Inca Cola. Minerva came home from school, at first terrified to see ten gringos and a camera when she ran through the door. But soon enough she joined in the fun, handing out pieces of her birthday cake and apologizing for its small size, then bouncing from lap to lap to take pictures with all the students.

This was one of those worldly, we-are-all-one experiences that I imagined happened on trips like these. It was truly special, and likely something that is still called “life-affirming” to this day. But just as quickly as it began, it ended. THAT’S A WRAP

It was time to go home. Everyone said their farewells at the front door, where more hugs and thank-yous were exchanged. Thinking film-first, I ran across the street to grab one last shot.

Freeze Frame As I knelt down on the dirt road to get settled, I saw the group starting to trickle off the doorstep and march toward the main intersection. I did some shifting to make sure my composition was just right, then peered into my viewfinder. Through my little digital window I saw Jhonny and Minerva, now alone, standing hand-in-hand in front of their home. They were watching their new friends walk away with a wistful, yet familiar stare. They’d been here before.

My jaw dropped, and I stopped filming. With little time to process thoughts I ran back to Jhonny and thanked him for everything. He refused to say goodbye, only “Hasta luego.”

I ran to catch up with the group. LEAVING SET

Hours later, we piled our backpacks onto the bus and took off for the airport. As we left town, I pointed my camera out the rear windows to get one last look at the place I thought I had come to know, if only a little bit, during our short stay. And as we passed people wandering through the battered dark streets, lit only by the occasional working streetlamp, I remembered Jhonny. Then, I started to weep. Meltdown

For the first time, I was confronted with the reality of the trip; I was returning to the privilege of my educated, white middle-class American existence after a brush with poverty, which, no doubt, would impress my family and friends over some dinner table conversation.

But Jhonny wasn’t going anywhere, and I would never genuinely know his struggle. What bothered me more was wondering if I’d ever want to. I felt guilt. The $25,000 our group spent on airfare could’ve bought stock rooms of therapy equipment at Yancana Huasy, or paid for more teachers at Fe y Alegria. I felt shame. I came to town, sucked these people’s lives into my camera, and now, I was retreating back home to my editing bay to stamp my name on it and use it to help me make it in the movies. I felt empty. I didn’t know why I’d come here, and I was looking for answers. I turned around, and there was Lacie, who happened to be sitting at the back of the bus. In that moment, she was the only one I wanted to go heart-to-heart with. I told her exactly how I felt, and she consoled me. She reminded me that I was doing a good thing, but I wondered if the people here really stood to benefit from a documentary film made by a twenty-something American nobody.

Is this it?

I dried my tears, and then, I felt like a cliché. Is this what volunteering abroad was all about—the opportunity for me to feel something outside of my nine-to-five routine? Did I really need to be flown to an underdeveloped community to learn to live with more humility, awareness, and compassion? Part of me thinks that I did, and that made me sad all over again. LESSON LEARNED

I cried that day because in my effort to understand the ethics behind volunteering abroad, I became the worst kind of participant. I came only to see what I wanted to see, and took what I needed. I failed to recognize what seems obvious in theory, but harder in practice: there are real people on both ends of these exchanges, and because we are guests, the host communities’ opinions of our presence there matter more than ours. Another Shot

I’m returning to Peru in two weeks to connect with the people I should have the first time around. I’m returning to ask these Peruvians what they think of American college students dropping in for a week, and how it affects them. I’m returning because I want to find out under what circumstances, if at all, it’s worthwhile for people like me to engage in this kind of travel.

While I’m there, I’ll finish shooting a movie, too. Back to top

THEORY AND PRACTICE: A FIRST-TIME VOLUNTEER VISITS COSTA RICA By Sarah Vandenberg

Five of us made our way through the jungle single-file, led by a teenage guide. It was just past midnight, and whether the sky was clear or cloudy, none of us could tell—the thick rainforest canopy blocked all light. Insects chirped, buzzed, and hissed as our small group clumsily pushed past overgrown brush and vines, holding one another’s t-shirts and elbows to stay on track.

Two days before, I’d arrived to San Jose, Costa Rica—my first trip outside of the United States. It was my sophomore year of college, and I’d saved all of my internship paychecks to embark on a volunteer project in Gandoca that summer. Not only could I start exploring the world, but I could also start actively getting out and doing some good.

NERDING IT UP

That June I would embark on a three-month conservation volunteer project on the Caribbean side of Costa Rica. The program’s goals were to monitor nesting sea turtles, protect their eggs, and release the hatchlings into the ocean. Sea turtles are at risk of extinction due to poachers, pollution, and degradation of their natural environment—the project I’d signed up for worked mainly with leatherbacks, but also monitored green and hawksbill turtles, which occasionally nested in the area.

For months I read about marine biology and conservation, even joining a forum dedicated to turtle research and care. I posted a thread asking for advice and stories about volunteering with leatherbacks; while the conversation moved slowly, I learned a great deal. The largest reptiles in the world, the leatherback sea turtle’s carapace grows anywhere from about three-and-a-half feet to nearly six feet long. It has the biggest flippers compared to its body size of any sea turtle, and its back is soft and somewhat leathery and oily—hence the name—rather than bony, like most other turtles. Leatherbacks can spend more than an hour underwater, reaching depths of 4,200 feet—compared to the deepest known scuba dive of 1,082 feet. They can swim faster than any other turtle at a top speed of 22 miles per hour. Different species of leatherback sea turtles are incredibly widespread, having been found from Norway to Australia. These turtles cannot be successfully bred or held in captivity—leatherbacks swim almost ceaselessly, with captive ones known to develop cuts, scrapes, and other wounds from treading against the sides of any tank in which they’re kept. No leatherback has been able to thrive upon being released, and as a result, no turtle of this species has been studied in full. There is no definitive answer to how long they can live, or even a comprehensive agreement on their migration patterns. Despite their widespread distribution, leatherback sea turtles are critically endangered. Their hatchlings—which oddly enough are comparable in size to other sea turtle hatchlings—immediately seek out and make their way toward the brightest spot they can view after emerging from their eggs. While this light source naturally would be the ocean with sunlight reflecting from it, hatchlings increasingly have been confused, and can head toward houses or, in one unfortunate case, paper lanterns left by a celebrating, newly engaged couple. During the trip from the nest to the water, hatchlings fall prey to seagulls and other animals, with only a small percentage making it to the ocean. It’s estimated that only one of every 1,000 survive to sexual maturity—as sightings of juvenile leatherbacks are exceedingly rare, researchers still are unsure about what happens during this period between hatching and breeding.

Female leatherbacks nest every two to three years. Atlantic leatherbacks nest between March and July, while Pacific ones return to the beach between September and March. This is the only time they make their way to land, with many turtles returning to their original hatching spot. Most leatherbacks lay about 60 to 90 eggs in a large hole that they dig near the surf with their hind flippers—when finished, they cover the nest back up and move along to the ocean, not returning until they’re ready to lay more eggs.

Knowing facts like these before flying to Costa Rica made me confident I could become a stellar volunteer—and perhaps even a research assistant. If I knew more about the animal we were working with, I wouldn’t have to scramble to learn the basics while being trained for active conservation work.

AN INCREDIBLE COMMUNITY

The community in Gandoca Beach, Costa Rica is comprised entirely of volunteers, research assistants, and local men and women employed by the conservation program—they trained us, housed us, and fed us. A clearing had been made in the jungle where we lived, with a few houses and cabins, a campsite, a bar, and canteen. A quick jaunt down a small rainforest path led us to a beautiful stretch of black sand beach. The general orientation covered house rules, chores, and schedules. For the next couple of days we learned about our two main projects: beach patrol and hatchery patrol. For the beach patrol, we would take three-hour shifts each night to hike four miles back and forth along the surf to watch for nesting leatherbacks. If we came upon one, we would collect her eggs as she laid them, then transport them to one of the three hatcheries located along the shore. While the turtle was still on land, we would tag her—or check for an existing tag—and note any distinctive markings or scars, measure her carapace, and save this information for research and tracking. The hatchery patrol volunteers took three-hour shifts 24 hours per day to build protective nests for the transported eggs, guard the nests from poachers, and measure, weigh, and count the baby turtles as they hatched.

On my second night in Gandoca, I was assigned to the midnight beach patrol. I pulled on a pair of black leggings and a long-sleeve gray t-shirt, slipped on a pair of water shoes, and wrapped my flashlight in red cellophane. The other volunteers did the same; the goal was to be as unobtrusive as possible to any leatherbacks we might encounter. By washing off any deodorants, perfumes, or sprays, wearing dark colors, and using a soft red light—only as absolutely needed—we minimized our risk of scaring off a nesting turtle.

Four volunteers and one research assistant gathered at the entrance to the jungle path. Our 16-year-old guide led us through a black maze of creepers, vines, and branches. He moved silently and quickly while the rest of us lumbered along behind him. Under the humid, dark canopy, the jungle is a cacophony of invisible insects—screeches, hoots, and clicks surround you on all sides, sometimes reaching a deafening roar. As we stepped into the beach clearing, the noises of the jungle died down to give way to crashing waves and a cool breeze from the ocean. Plants and vines closed behind us and we were in the open. The sky was mostly clear, with occasional clouds passing in front of a bright half moon. Our guide headed back to his house while the research assistant led us onward down the beach. A SLAP IN THE FACE

Within the first hour, our group came to a stop—a few yards in front of us was a leatherback sea turtle making her way out of the ocean to find a nesting spot. She heaved herself slowly up the sand, making enormous grooves in the surf with her flippers. Each of the volunteers on this patrol had been on the project for at least a month; they knew exactly what to do and moved quickly while I tried to follow along. I watched her for a moment, almost in shock—while I knew leatherbacks could grow to six feet long, and knew they were the largest reptiles on earth, I hadn’t realized just what that meant. She was enormous—her shell was five-and-a-half feet in length, just slightly greater than I am tall. Her front flippers were half that size, and longer than my arms. As the turtle found a spot and began to scoop sand away with her powerful hind flippers, our group quickly made our way toward her—the research assistant measured the leatherback’s carapace and flippers, and whispered directions while one volunteer put a red cellophane-covered flashlight between her teeth and jotted notes onto a clipboard. The turtle had been injured recently; as she tried digging the nest, her right flipper dug and shifted the sand aside quickly while the left one flapped about helplessly. Concerned that she

would head back into the water if we stayed too long, three of us dove in, furiously scooping sand and patting down the sides of what became a three-foot-deep tunnel.

Someone handed me a heavy-duty black garbage bag. “Can you collect the eggs?”

“Sure!” I squatted over the hole just as the turtle started dropping eggs into it. I grabbed a couple of them, thinking I would collect all the eggs when she was done and plunk them into the bag. As I leaned forward, two of the volunteers hooked their arms around my legs and shoved me face-first into the tunnel. I hadn’t gotten to this part of the training yet.

“Get right in there—that’s it! Now wrap the bag around your elbows. She’ll lay a lot of eggs, so it’ll get heavy in a minute.”

Oh gosh, I thought. Ok. We’re collecting them like, right now. I couldn’t get a grip quickly enough on the bag, frantically wrapping two sides of it around my wrists while the leatherback plopped egg after egg into it. The volunteers pushed me further into the tunnel so that only my hips and legs were sticking out—I was buried up to my waist, upside-down, with my head directly under the turtle’s tail. While two people steadied me, another walked around the turtle, noting scars, markings, and anything else that could identify her. She’d been tagged by a previous group, so she already nested in that area before. Meanwhile, the leatherback grunted occasionally and continued dropping soft eggs the size of billiard balls into the bag. I had just enough time to wonder whether I’d read anything about this on the turtle research forums.

Within a few moments she slowed down, the eggs becoming smaller in size—some about as big as a golf ball—and less frequent. The bag was incredibly heavy, with 82 eggs we later counted.

The turtle grunted one more time and a shot of goo splashed into the nest, drenching the sand, the bag, and me. Her flippers slowly began shifting around, trying to bury the nest, and throwing sand and shells on my head and into the bag. SLAP!

Her powerful right flipper smacked me upside the head. SPLUT! SMACK! SLAP!

She clearly wanted me out of the way, hitting me repeatedly and grinding sand and egg juice into my nose and hair.

I felt a tug on my legs. Oh thank God.

“Don’t let go of the bag!” someone hissed just as it slipped from my hands. As two volunteers began pulling me by my ankles, I got a better grip on the garbage bag, trying not to let it drop and crush the eggs at the bottom. The research assistant wrapped his arms around my waist and the group heaved me up and out of the hole. The leatherback continued methodically filling the tunnel back up with wet sand. We watched for a few moments, and as the turtle finished burying her empty nest and headed back to the water, I thought about the months of research I’d done. None of it prepared me for this, but it was all right. I’d traveled solo for the first time in my life, I lived in a jungle cabin, and I got slapped in the face by the largest reptile on the planet. What an unexpectedly memorable experience.

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INDONESIA: THE ORANGUTANS OF BUKIT LAWANG By Daniel van den Berg

In 2010 I visited the village of Bukit Lawang on Sumatra, Indonesia. Although it was not the only site I visited during my trip, this was certainly a very special place, and I still have fond memories from it.

When we arrived in early February, we were dropped off at the edge of the village, about 200 yards from the river Bohorok that flows through the center of Bukit Lawang. The village was completely dark—there was a power outage at that time. Though not very uncommon in that area, it took us by surprise—a pleasant surprise, because when you’re used to the light-flooded environment of the Netherlands, arriving in total darkness is a very special experience. Our guide led us to Nora’s Homestay, where we would bunk for the night. Nora, the owner of the guesthouse, had some candles set up in the dining area, where she served dinner and drinks even though it was pitch black outside. It was a great experience; fireflies lit up around us, and the air was filled with sounds from the jungle.

At dinner, my friends and I met one of the jungle guides, who made us a great offer for a trek—the main reason we were in Bukit Lawang. We decided to stay with them in Indra’s Inn, located alongside the river, while we would be preparing for the trek. You can feel how tourism is by far the main source of income in Bukit Lawang; for a village so small it has a relatively high number of tourist lodges, guesthouses and inns—and the competition grew even larger after a flash flood destroyed most of the local tourist resorts in November 2003. Ever since, the people of Bukit Lawang have rebuilt their homes, and—maybe as important as their own—homes for tourists. The main attraction to the area is the Gunung Leuser National Park, with an orangutan sanctuary located inside the park. With 5,000 Sumatran orangutans living in the area, the sanctuary is the largest of its sort. The day of the trek we woke up very early; it was just after sunrise. Our first destination was the sanctuary, which doubles as one of the entrances for the park. After we crossed the river in a tiny boat, we walked up the hill where the sanctuary was, to discover that they had just started feeding a mother orangutan and her child!

It was a great sight: the two primates that sat on a wooden platform taking food and water—in a cup!—from one of the sanctuary employees. We were far away from the animals, but at some point I could see the mother looking at us, and then she brought the cup to her mouth and drank from it. Apes learning from humans, and vice versa. However, not all orangutans learned “good” behavior from the humans that want to take care of them. We learned about that halfway our jungle trek, a couple of hours later. The day before, we heard about a tourist who was bitten by an orangutan in the jungle, and the guides warned us that if one would appear outside of the sanctuary, we would have to run while he distracted the animal with some food.

And only minutes after one of our guides went ahead of the group to scout for orangutans, our other guide started shouting, “Run! Run!”

From the corner of my eye I saw the reddish fur of the ape move at an astonishing speed through the trees. We ran, and ran, until we met the other guide. He explained to us that this particular animal had been kept in captivity for so long that every time she noticed that humans were around, she would attack them because she expected food.

The rest of the jungle trek was safe and enjoyable. At last we arrived at the river again, where a friend of our guides had already started a fire and was preparing dinner! We were exhausted, and after a quick bath in the river—and an accompanying shower from the clouds above us—we settled down and had the freshly prepared dinner, and we slept soundly in the jungle that night.

The next morning we were woken by dozens of monkeys in the trees around us. They had come after the breakfast that our guides were preparing, and while we were eating, they didn’t stop trying to snatch it from our hands. Apparently they were used to humans coming to this place—they weren’t afraid of us in the least.

Then we headed back to the village—not by foot, but we let the Bohorok River take us back on our huge inflatable tubes—and we saw all of the jungle once again. Something we noticed that morning was that the river was rather wild, and later that night we saw with our own eyes how a relatively calm river could transform into a swirling water mass. Bukit Lawang was restless that night: the people remembered the flash flood of only a few years ago just too well. Back to top

EMBRACING ADVERSITY: WHY MISERABLE MOMENTS MAKE FOR YOUR BEST TRAVEL WRITING By Erick Widman

“The word ‘adventure’ has gotten overused. For me, when everything goes wrong, that’s when adventure starts.” -Yvon Chouinard

We travelers like to view ourselves as an intrepid bunch. Planning our next trip, we’re hungry for adventure—as long as it’s the kind of adventure we had in mind. The prospect of riding elephants in the jungles of Cambodia is invigorating, but getting stuck at the Siem Reap airport for fourteen hours sounds downright terrible. We love the idea of traveling down the Nile on a boat with the locals. But who wants to stay up most of the night with the boat’s exhaust fumes seeping into your room?

Remarkably enough, all travelers should embrace miserable moments like these. They are what produce enduring memories, tantalizing stories, and help us grow.

A truly liberating travel truth—and a truth of life in general—is that the best experiences are the unexpected ones. The joy that comes from photographing a beautiful cafe you stumbled upon in Paris is a hundred times greater than snapping a trophy shot of the Mona Lisa at the Louvre. And if the new Irish friends you made at the local pub will spend a day showing you around Dublin, you’ll have an infinitely better time than joining up with a pack of tourists. Of course, these are the unexpected, glorious, good experiences that typically accompany every trip. We’ve also got to consider the unexpected, beastly, bad moments. How should we think of these? Eventually, we should be grateful for those times and often we can look back on them with a smile.

At first it might seem implausible to celebrate the frustrating, ridiculous, and painful experiences on a trip. After the fact, you’ll find the stories of getting pickpocketed in Budapest, food-poisoned in Cairo, and completely lost in St. Petersburg are much more compelling and impactful than sunny tales with no adversity. Certainly, when you’re in the miserable moment, you’re often thinking, “What am I doing here—why did I come?” Thankfully, the bad times inevitably lead to better times, and you usually receive a number of side benefits in the process.

Did you get a bit trampled while running with the bulls in Pamplona? You’ll also get to experience the kindness of Spanish nurses and doctors and improve your medical vocabulary in another language. Did you lose your passport while seeing the sights in Athens? During your wait at the local embassy, redeem the time by listening to how earnest young men and women are describing how they dream of studying abroad in your country if they could only receive a visa.

The best stories in life are about confronting adversity, enduring it, and coming out a changed person on the other side. Travel writing should be viewed in precisely the same way—in fact, it’s a the perfect laboratory to be challenged and changed in a condensed period of time. Rather than hoping our travels will be filled with experiences that mirror our expectations, we should desire the unexpected. And when apparent setbacks, obstacles, and failures arise, let’s try our best not to be disappointed. Instead, let’s recognize the real adventure is just beginning.

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SEVEN WAYS TO OVERCOME THE PITFALLS OF SELF-EDITING By Marci Clark There’s a meme that makes its way to my Facebook page from time to time. All the words are spelled wrong, yet it is still legible. That is because our brains are magnificent things. So magnificent they recognize the big picture (the word) and skim right over the details (the letters).

This is wonderful. Unless you are self-editing. Then it is an absolute nightmare. I am an editor by trade, so seeing errors in my work after it has been posted instantly sends my palm crashing into my forehead—but even the most seasoned writer doesn’t always see errors in her work.

After some embarrassing mistakes and painful palm plants, I’ve learned a few tricks to do just that!

1: WALK AWAY The best thing you can do before editing is to walk away. Let your words leave your mind for a while. When you return, you will see what is there instead of what your brain thinks is there. Trying to edit immediately allows what you thought you typed get in the way of what you actually typed. 2: READ FIRST FOR CONTENT

Rather than focusing on the details of grammatical issues, make sure what you are saying makes sense. It is easy to skip over important details that will be crucial for the reader to follow along. They can’t read your mind so it is up to you to connect all the dots for them. 3: LOOK FOR PERSONAL TICS

Every writer has a personal tic that can easily become a distraction. Overuse of punctuation and certain words or phrases can become a distraction for a reader. I tend to drop words because my thoughts are faster than my fingers. Learn to recognize your tics so you can edit for them. 4: AVOID OVERSTUFFING YOUR POST

People are fickle. It is really easy to offer too much information and lose their attention. The waterfall may have been the most incredibly breathtakingly beautiful and magical display of nature’s amazing ability to mesmerize with what started as a simple trickle of water…yeah, you can share that in fewer words and still get your point across.

5: READ FOR GRAMMAR Now that the fat has been cut away from the meat of your story, you can sit back and look specifically at grammar. Delete any overused or improperly used punctuation. An exclamation point at the end of every sentence causes the punctuation to lose its meaning. Semi-colons are used to tie two closely connected sentences. Use them sparingly, as they can be a distraction. Colons are used to set aside a sentence from additional information, typically a list.

6: DO NOT COUNT ON SPELLCHECKER Spellchecker is a wonderful thing. The red and green lines immediately grab your eye and scream at you to correct an error. But the program doesn’t know everything and while it catches many errors, it doesn’t catch them all. Many phrases or interchangeable words slip through. It’s up to you to catch those. 7: PRINT IT

If time permits, walk away from the post one more time. Get it out of your head and then print the document and read it again. For some reason, seeing it on paper makes a huge difference. This should allow you to catch any content or grammar issues missed in prior reads. A third and final read-through is usually enough to give you a clean copy, ready for posting.

Though I’ve implemented these into my regular working schedule, this doesn’t mean things don’t still slip through from time to time. Mistakes are inevitable. We all make them, but these things have definitely helped me clean up my posts and saved my forehead from a slap or two—and hopefully they will save your forehead too.

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TRAVEL WRITING TIP: BEGIN YOUR ESSAYS IN MEDIAS RES By Sarah Vandenberg

Each time I write an essay or story, I save the beginning for last. As the outline builds into prose, I pay careful attention to the climax—or at least to one of the more entertaining parts of the story—and more often than not, find a way to build an introduction from there.

Writing in medias res is a form of nonlinear storytelling that begins your text in the middle, rather than starting from the top. You’ll describe a scene or event to pull your readers in, then circle back to it at another point in your narrative. My favorite example is from the film The Prestige. The first scene shows us dozens of black top hats cast away in a forest. The narrator asks, “Are you watching closely?” and as we progress through the film, the purpose of the top hats is explained.

EXAMPLES FROM TRAVEL WRITING Five of us made our way through the jungle single-file, led by a teenage guide. It was just past midnight, and whether the sky was clear or cloudy, none of us could tell—the thick rainforest canopy blocked all light. Insects chirped, buzzed, and hissed as our small group clumsily pushed past overgrown brush and vines, holding one another’s t-shirts and elbows to stay on track. This story chronicles my adventure in preparing for a volunteer trip abroad, and how all of my research and studying had little bearing on what I actually encountered. The opening drops you alongside me and my fellow volunteers midway through the essay.

She was brushing her teeth as I noticed her tattoo. I asked her what kind it was, and if I could take a closer look. She turned her shoulder toward me as I sat on the top bunk bed in the Adelaide Hostel, bending down to read what was written on this strangely familiar girl’s arm. I nodded to acknowledge I understood the words in French, and we looked each other in the eyes. This was it, I thought. I want to know her better. In this essay, Daniel writes about how a three-week road trip across the United States changed his perception and indeed his life. His introduction pulls you into a hostel, the final stop on his travels, and introduces you to someone who piqued his curiosity—with the intention of piquing yours as well. EXERCISE

Think about the best vacation you’ve taken. Write five things about that vacation that immediately pop into your mind. These can be smells, sights, a delicious food, a new activity, a wonderful person you met—anything that jumps out at you. Now take one of those elements and write a 200- to 400-word description of it. Try to convey the atmosphere for your reader so he’ll feel he’s standing right next to you: what did you see? Hear? Smell? Taste? Feel?

This alone may work for an introduction to your story. If you don’t think you’ve quite hit the mark, outline the rest of your essay and determine whether another event naturally catches your eye instead. On the other hand, you may have found one memory sticks out in particular even before you begin writing your five points—try writing your introduction from there. If you find it makes the perfect beginning, you’re on your way!

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A GOOD WRITER IS A GOOD OBSERVER By Robin Van Auken

If you’re a writer and you’re hoping to turn out an interesting travel article, then you had better be paying attention. Not to this article—although it contains helpful advice for gathering intel during your next trip. You need to pay attention to everything and everyone and everywhere while you’re abroad because you never know what, who, or where will become fodder for a feature. Don’t make the mistake of deciding what you’re going to write about beforehand; instead, take your time. Look around. Use your senses.

Your trip may not be an exciting expedition to Mt. Everest, or a stunning safari of the African Savannah, but that’s okay. Some of the best feature articles come from ordinary situations and the most ordinary questions.

One of the biggest favors you can do for your writing is to think like a child: look around in wonder. Ask “Why?” and listen to the answer. If something strikes you as interesting, others will feel the same way. Your task is to convey the excitement you felt at your discovery to the reader. As Margaret Davidson notes in A Guide for Newspaper Stringers, the difference between being a good writer and an average one is keen observation. “A good writer is a good observer—of people, surroundings, ideas and trends, and the general flotsam and jetsam of the world around,” she writes. What makes a good observer, you ask?

Davidson explains, “Some people seem to go through life with blinders on. They are so wrapped up in their own comings and goings they are unaware of the ebb and flow around them. But others observe the world in sharp detail with the vision to see everything in perspective, appreciating its true value.”

So, are you wearing blinders? And if so, what can you do to prevent being an oblivious, average writer? Here are some tips to help sharpen your focus:

PLACES

Before you travel, research the minute details about your destination. Find out the unusual and interesting before you begin your journey. Then when you get there, take time to absorb and appreciate it. Stand in awe before the landmark, proud in the knowledge that you could be its tour guide. If you know the place in and out, your senses will be free to explore.

An excellent tool that works well at connecting reams of information with locations is Wikipedia and the app Wikihood. By using the geolocation ability of Google Maps, this is a traveler’s valued resource.

Create a digital scrapbook of your intended destination and cram it with Wiki articles, photos, links to videos, and even podcasts. Make a Google Map and place pins on your planned points of interest, and then add photos and links to these pins. Each time you add data to your scrapbook, you learn—and retain—a bit more. Keeping it simple and on a mobile device such as a smartphone or a tablet means you can take it with you on the journey. PEOPLE

Meeting new people can be the best part of traveling. As a writer, you may want to feature those you meet in an article or essay—Bruce Garrison advises in Professional Feature Writing that you “think about him or her from a writer’s professional point of view. Is this person worthy of a feature story? What makes him or her interesting to readers? What has the person done that others would like to know?” Remember, if you liked this person, then you must have something interesting to share about him or her. Shed the blinders and study the person, memorizing details about his physical traits and personality. Jot down notes before you forget and snap a photograph, if you can.

Keep in mind, you’re not writing a biography—you’re capturing a moment, a memoir, a brief account of how they touched your life and enhanced it.

THINGS

We’ve surrounded ourselves with “things”—the artifacts of civilization. We’re inundated with items to the point they often fade into the background. If you’re interested in writing about some “thing,” then you need to bring it to the forefront. Make the reader care enough to notice it.

Do this by harnessing your natural curiosity. Put on your X-ray goggles and study the item. When writing about things, answer the standard questions: Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How. By incorporating these elements, you’ll fulfill most readers’ needs. If you’re writing a product review, you’ll want to ask additional questions. The general description of the product will contain the five Ws, including size, weight, price, installation, packaging, difficulty of use and unusual features. You’ll want to describe the type of buyer that would find the product useful—who’s the intended customer? If you’re reviewing a product that isn’t waterproof, then tell the audience it isn’t intended for underwater use. Also, demonstrate personal experience with the product. You can accomplish this with photos or video, or with a

detailed description of your use of the product. Finally, resist being a fanboy or fangirl. Products have pros and cons, so help the buyer make an informed decision.

Writing isn’t difficult. Writing something interesting? Well, that’s a different story. Whether you’re writing about a person, a place, or a thing, if you don’t include your own sense of wonder, your sense of curiosity, then you cannot ask the same of the reader. Be a child first. Ask why. Listen, and then share the answer.

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