Photo by Returning to Nomadism

HOUSES ARE THE GRAVES of the living, so the Tuareg proverb runs. And on Sundays, in the torpor of the suburbs, those graves lie still indeed.

Even in these spaces — with their Monday deadlines, cold coffee, and memories of Friday nights spent evading existential questions in alcohol — the world can yet find you. To give you the fat kick in the pants you need to remind you that it’s out there, and it’s more fantastical than you’ve tasted even the half of.

So here’s a kick to the dead weight of a weekend in the suburbs. In the cameras of Returning to Nomadism and the much older words of Byron:

So, we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we’ll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.

WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES and imagine our home world, this is the masterpiece of terra firma that revolves behind my eyelids.

The satellite images combine visible and infrared wavelengths of light, creating a 121-megapixel shot every 30 minutes — giving one of the clearest looks at our planet.

The guy responsible for this timelapse happens to also have an interactive website with oodles of space videos and zoomable images taken from orbiting satellites. His Tumblr is pretty dope too — if you’re a fan of the golden ratio and mind-blowing images of nature.

Next time you’re outside, look up and smile. You might be having your picture taken.

On Friday, 11 March 2011, a 9.0 magnitude earthquake shook 72km off the eastern shore of Japan. The quake was the largest in Japanese history (or ever since record keeping began), and triggered a 133ft high tsunami that slammed into the shore, in some places traveling up to 10km inland.

The tsunami triggered a number of nuclear accidents, including the ongoing meltdowns at three reactors in the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant complex. The resultant evacuation zones forced thousands to abandon their homes. In total, the event caused 15,854 deaths and billions of dollars in property damage, making it the most expensive natural disaster in world history.

The nuclear meltdown has also prompted many Japanese to wonder about the safety of this type of power generation. While the media and government seem to be hiding the details of radiation leakage and the true cost of nuclear power, some citizens and artists are wondering how to respond.

Tokyo-based illustrator Hanamaru Fujii asked himself that question. His response:

“One evening, I felt compelled and inspired to take my recent thoughts and put it onto paper. Half an hour later, I had something- a story with illustrations. I put it on Facebook, thinking it would at least see the light of day. I’ve been humbled and surprised to have so much unexpected encouragement and thanks. It made me want to share this with more people.”

In early April, The Power Story was sent to me by a friend, as I was about to embark on a journey to Japan for my short film Reactor. The film was an attempt to chronicle the Japanese response to a society in crisis — Hanamaru’s work fit the description. A few flights, bullet trains, and subway rides later, I arrived at his Tokyo studio and we sat down for an interview.

Afterward, I asked if he’d like me to record a reading of The Power Story, to include in a film version of his book. Happily, he obliged, with the result being what you see above.

DURING THE SUMMER OF 2008, I worked at the Lake Powell/Glen Canyon National Recreation Area and explored the Southwest in my free time. The memory of the first time I saw the red rock landscape while hanging out of my best friend’s sun roof is still etched in my mind today. It’s a place that I will return to time and again to get a fix of the vast wilderness that is the Great American Southwest.

[Note: Matador editors selected this Community blog post for publication at the Network.]

Upper Navajo Canyon

An advantage of working on the lake was free boat rentals for employees. The best time to be on Lake Powell is early in the morning or after 5pm, when many boaters head home for the day. A few us woke up around 5am one morning and rented a boat so we could spend the day wakeboarding. This particular morning we were the only boat in sight as we cut through water like glass in Upper Navajo Canyon.

Wakeboarding

Once the 710ft Glen Canyon Dam was built in 1966, much of Glen Canyon disappeared under hundreds of feet of water. The calm, blueish-green waters of the lake conceal subsurface hazards: rock spires that once towered above the floor of the canyon, one of which we once hit while towing a wakeboarder. It's a good thing the boat was a rental!

Horseshoe Bend

Just a few miles outside Page, AZ and about a 15-minute drive from Wahweap Bay, Horseshoe Bend has a bird's-eye view of what geologists call an “entrenched meander.”  My first visit to this spot in 2008 had one of my friends on all fours begging me to step away from the ledge as I took a photo. This time, my friend Amy looked out at the 700ft drop with me as I captured this scene.

Henry

Another perk of working at Lake Powell was free tours (just tip the guides well) at Upper Antelope Canyon. Henry, my favorite guide, is a retired Navajo man who has lived in the area his entire life.

Double flute

Some guides play instruments like this one during their tour. In July and August the canyon is almost too crowded to move, but I managed to get lucky and strayed from the group to get this shot. It looks like I had the canyon to myself when in fact it was extremely crowded.

Sun ray

The best time for tours in Upper Antelope Canyon is around noon, when sun rays are visible throughout most of the time spent in the canyon.

Sandfall

This sandfall was there the first two times I visited the canyon, but when I returned in 2011 a flash flood had washed the canyon floor 10 feet deeper and it was gone.

End of the canyon

Aside from the incredible sun rays, the intense colors of the light reflecting on the walls makes for great photos.

Observation point, Zion National Park

This spot has one of the best views in Zion National Park, and after a steep 4-mile climb it was an awesome sight to see. The trail provided little shade, and with 105-degree heat, our nap in the shade of a Utah Juniper tree at the top was well deserved. On the descent, one of my hiking partners and I decided to hike East Rim Trail out of the park. We descended the nearly 2,500ft climb we'd just done and then headed back up another 2,200 feet and 10 more miles. We didn't see another soul on the East Rim Trail that day. After nearly 20 miles and 4,700 vertical feet, we felt we'd experienced as much of the park?s beauty as our limited time would allow.

Humphrey's Peak

Three friends and I left Lake Powell around 4:30 one morning and made the 3-hour drive to the trailhead of Humphrey’s Peak. Located north of Flagstaff, Humphrey’s is Arizona's highest point, reaching 12,637 feet at its summit with 3,333 feet of elevation gain when taking the Arizona Snow Bowl-Humphreys Peak route. We reached the summit around 11am, right before storm clouds pushed their way up the side of the mountain and spilled over the other with us still standing on the summit.

The Milky Way as seen from our South Kaibab National Forest campsite

The only open campsites as we arrived to hike in the Grand Canyon were at South Kaibab National Forest. We got in at night and set up camp. A slight chill woke us up around 3:45am, so we packed up and caught the first shuttle to the South Kaibab trailhead to start hiking at around 5. After walking about 100 feet, the canyon opened up and was lit by moonlight and stars.

Grand Canyon

The sun rising in the Grand Canyon was one of the coolest things I have ever seen. This was taken on the South Kaibab Trail as the sun peeked around the corner, shining its first rays throughout the entire canyon.

Blister

We took the South Kaibab to the Bright Angel Trail and made it down to the Colorado by 8am. At the bottom of the canyon near the end of July, the temperature reached nearly 115 degrees. After resting for a bit and eating, we started up Bright Angel Trail. The way up was much more strenuous and most of it was in direct sunlight. I felt pressure and pain on the ball of my foot every time we stopped and then started hiking again, but I wasn't about to take my shoe off for fear I wouldn't want to put it back on. I didn't take my boots off until we got back to our car and I found this blister.

Transparent leaf

I found this see-through leaf en-route to Chaol Falls, 4 miles from water level in Upper Navajo Canyon. You need a boat to access this area, and toward the end of the canyon we had to strategically bat driftwood away from the propeller before finally shutting off our motor to row to the beach. The waterfalls are 4 miles past the beach. Along the way we passed waterstains stretching hundreds of feet across massive cross-bedding features, 2000-year-old Anasazi petroglyphs, and long-deserted Anasazi dwellings perched in the cliffs.  We turned a corner and were so captivated by the flight and screech of a red-tailed hawk that we almost walked up on a small herd of horses.

Photo courtesy of ETHNOTEK

FIRST OF ALL, purses shouldn’t count. I mean, maybe one of those bizarre Gucci-Prada-whatever purses that look like giant shiny diaper bags qualifies as a single carry-on item. But a small bag with a phone, documents, and some cash? No.

I flew to Belize in March and New York in April. Both times, I took a backpack, laptop, purse, and camera bag with extra lens, all as two carry-ons. It probably wouldn’t have worked without the complimentary messenger bag I received from ETHNOTEK.

It’s the TARDIS of laptop bags — so much bigger on the inside than the outside. It swallowed my MacBook and plug, along with two books for the flight. (I don’t own an iPad, but if I did, it would’ve fit perfectly in the separate sleeve.) My iPhone went in one of the front pockets, a small notebook next to it. Pens, pencils, and sonic screwdrivers also found their own slots.

I threw in a sketchpad with a dozen charcoal pencils. (I don’t draw, but hey — I could start, right?) The empty section at the front of the bag yawned at me, so I crammed my purse in.

When I added a large BPA-free water bottle and a small bag with toiletries, the bag finally started to feel full. Sort of. Clothes and camera bag went into the backpack, and I had my two carry-ons.

Photo courtesy of ETHNOTEK

Like my ETHNOTEK backpack, the messenger bag gets a lot of compliments. There are eight types of interchangeable (and beautiful) THREADS available for the messenger bags (I went with the Vietnam 2), although all designs are limited edition and may change depending on what fabrics are available from the tribes ETHNOTEK sources from.

Each bag comes with a removable padded shoulder strap, luggage trolley handle pass-through on the back, and buckle webbing straps on the bottom. The padded laptop compartment has removable bumper inserts — without, it fits 15″ laptops; with, 13″ laptops won’t slide around.

ETHNOTEK messenger bags with one THREAD range from $129-$149; additional THREADS start at $29. The company is currently offering free domestic shipping on all bag orders, and guarantees all international orders will arrive two days after shipping.

Image Vinni123

When I was planning to move abroad after graduating from a small liberal arts college in 2008, one of my biggest concerns was how I was going to pay off my loans. Even though my financial aid package was quite generous, I graduated with $26,000 in student debt: a combination of Stafford and Perkins Federal loans.

Loan deferral

My first year living in Chile, I qualified for an economic hardship deferral because I was unemployed for two months. Then, I started paying in full: $320 per month. I did this for a year and a half, using 23% of my monthly income to pay back the loans. This wasn’t tragic — the cost of living in Chile is lower than that in the US — but sometimes I had to dip into my savings account to cover the payment.

Last August, I found out I needed to have major surgery. By this time, between travel throughout Chile and my loan payments, my savings account was dangerously low. Although my private health insurance covered 90% of the medical costs, I was unsure how much I would have to pay out of pocket. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to make my loan payments because of these extra medical costs.

Income-Based Repayment

After doing some research on my loan servicer’s website, I found out that I didn’t qualify for an economic hardship deferral. However, I found an even better, more sustainable solution: Income-Based Repayment (IBR). This program calculates a monthly payment based on how much money the loanholder makes. If your earnings are less than 150% of the US poverty level, your monthly payment is $0.

After applying through my loan servicer, I just sent in my most recent US tax return and I was all set to pay $0 per month for the next year. Yes, I am accruing interest during this time, but, under the program, if I haven’t paid off the balance within 25 years, my remaining debt is forgiven. IBR is recalculated once a year and the monthly payments are adjusted if necessary, but you never have to pay more than 15% of your discretionary income.

This program was started in 2009, and though I wish I had known about it earlier, IBR has made my last year living in Chile much more relaxed. If you’re considering moving abroad, but are, like the majority of recent graduates, concerned about student loans, IBR might be a practical solution.

For more info and to see if you qualify, visit IBRinfo.org. The website explains which federal loans are eligible, and has an online calculator to estimate your monthly payments.

Photo originally appeared in the winning article

WE’RE STOKED TO HEAR that Matador contributor Monica Prelle just won honors at the annual conference of the Outdoor Writers Association of California, for an article she wrote for Matador.

Broken Lines: Fly fishing the Sierra Nevada was published at the Network on May 9, 2011, and took honors in the “Action Photo” category at the 2012 Excellence in Craft Competition.

Monica is an outdoors and travel writer specializing in camping, and has also written for Matador about Mountain biking California wine country and Surfing Fiji.

The Outdoor Writers Association of California “is a non-profit association of media professionals who communicate the vast array of outdoor recreational opportunities and related issues in California and the surrounding western region.”

Congratulations, Monica!

IN THE BACK OF MY MIND, I was aware of the dark line of the Upper Keys barely visible on the horizon as I concentrated on the tender’s voice going through the check list.

Air on? Check. Regulator functional? Check. Touch it! Check. Cutting tool present? Check. Touch it! Check.

When all was ready, I took a step and jumped off the back of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) work boat and swam directly down 50 feet to Aquarius.

I was fortunate enough to make six dives to Aquarius during the first mission of 2011 as a guest of Joe Pawlik, the scientist heading the sponge research.

On my first evening at the researchers’ dorm — a shore-based facility on the seaward side of Key Largo — I got a taste of how unusual this was going to be. Joe and I were chatting when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “Oh, Aquarius calling. Gotta take this…”

He talked about a few technical matters before adding, “Guys, I just had the best watermelon — it was so good that I bought one to bring down to you. Watermelon at the bottom of the ocean, anyone?”

[Note: Matador editors selected this Community blog post for publication at the Network.]

Aquarius

Aquarius appeared larger than I expected. Here, a diver is about to enter the "wet porch," where he will kneel on a grate in waist-deep water that allows him to lift his head and chest out of the water and into the humid air of the habitat. Once outside of this "moon pool," a hot shower helps to remove the salt water before drying off and entering the habitat.

Outside Aquarius

Fish and sessile sea life crowd the outer surfaces of Aquarius. The space at the lower right corner is the entrance to the wet porch. Unseen below that is a 10-foot high open-sided "basement" filled with fish.

The moon pool

Looking into the wet porch (occupied as usual by a squadron of grunts and snappers) reveals the mirrored underside of the "moon pool" -- the interface between the sea and the air inside the habitat. Aquanauts inside the structure have hung their scuba gear on the underwater rack.

Hope you don't snore

The climate inside Aquarius is controlled, comfortable, odorless, and dry. Six aquanauts sleep in these bunks wedged into the forward section of the habitat. Carbon dioxide scrubbers are located under the lower bunks.

Goliath grouper

Crowds of small fish stay out of the way of this immense Goliath grouper. This one is at least two decades old and has lived at Aquarius for much of its life. It trailed a long line from a hook in its mouth.

Under the feet of aquanauts

The pressurized air in Aquarius is twice as dense as on the surface, and when I speak, my voice is noticeably deeper. But not as deep as another sound frequently heard inside the habitat: the "booming" of these two hefty Goliath groupers that live literally under our feet. After dark, the larger one often peeks inside to people-watch through one of the ports.

Giant Barrel Sponges

The quantity and variety of sponges growing on Aquarius is astounding and mesmerizing. So far though, none of the Giant Barrel sponges found on the surrounding reefs have taken up residence on the habitat walls. I'm told those guys filter enough water in a week to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

Watermelon at the bottom of the ocean

Because the aquanauts cannot return directly to the surface without a lengthy decompression procedure, shore-based assistants act as couriers between the surface and the habitat. Here, a diver delivering a watermelon to the aquanauts hears a cracking sound coming from within the melon. Gladly, the aquanauts found the rind intact and the fruit inside conveniently broken up for them.

Webcasting from the ocean floor

Most of the time, divers use scuba to explore the reefs. Sometimes, however, they connect to an umbilical with air delivery and electronic connections that allow live webcasts from the camera mounted on the diver's lightweight helmet.

Instruments and recording devices

Here, a variety of water- and pressure-proof measuring and recording devices are attached to a cluster of sponges. These are placed and attended to by aquanaut scientists working with Dr. Joe Pawlik from the University of North Carolina, Wilmington.

Dog Snappers in the basement

Beneath the habitat, the local sea life seems content to loiter, socialize, mate, and eat in the shadowy "basement." Here, a pair of large Dog Snappers are building up to spawning at dusk. The "tear streak" is characteristic of this coveted-by-fishermen species.

The "wet porch" grate

The pressure in Aquarius is kept slightly above the ambient water pressure to prevent the moon pool from flooding the habitat. Here, an aquanaut partially emerges from the moon pool on the "wet porch" to discuss a matter with a technician inside the habitat. It's extremely humid here, as befits a space that's open to the sea at 10 fathoms deep.

Blue Striped Grunt hunting for snacks

This self-conscious Blue Striped Grunt looks for edible tidbits amongst the sponges on one of the habitat's support legs. Aquarius doubles as a marvelous artificial reef, which attracts many kinds of fish. The area is marked off as a preserve, and fishing and sport diving are prohibited.

Queen Angelfish

One of the brightest colored fish on the reef, this Queen Angelfish grazes on a sponge growing from the Aquarius structure. Sponges comprise a large part of the diet of most angelfish, yet the habitat's prolific population of sessile creatures somehow stays ahead of the considerable feeding pressure from the large number of fish.

BOGOTÁ SEEMS AS UNLIKELY a place as any to explore the semiotics of cement. But the city’s historic monuments help me sort out the culture on display, one historic figure at a time.

How often have I strolled by the bust of a dead guy on a pedestal and wondered, “What did he do to win the lottery?” In familiar haunts it’s easy to forget such thoughts, but when I’m a traveler, the destination is my puzzle and the artifacts are pieces of the jigsaw.

Historical monuments of notables or events can serve like informers from the past, whispering — sometimes hammering — a story into my ear. As an amateur archaeologist I’m free to speculate (with extreme prejudice) on the meaning of my cultural excavation.

Bogotá’s public statues often seem linked to the ancient world, with their flowing, toga-like garb. But in fact they reveal the city’s relationship to a comparatively more modern history, following the Spanish colonization of the 16th century.

Laureano Gómez

In June 2011 the marble pedestal supporting the massive 12x12 foot head of the former president and despot was fragged by a bomb. No surprise there, Laureano Gómez is the go-to-guy when political malcontents want to underscore their grievances with an explosive exclamation point! The attack most likely had something to do with the Gómez family blood feud with the extreme right wing. This was the second time Gómez suffered a strafing. A mobile police van is now stationed next to the statue.

Gonzalo Jiménez de Quesada

The statue of the conquistador who founded Bogotá 475 years ago resides in Rosario Plaza in a dicey barrio known as Egipto, just north of the old-quarter of Candaleria. Gonzalo Jiménez de Quesada hailed from a wealthy Marano family in Spain and stripped a fortune in gold and emeralds from the Spanish colony of New Granada. The 83-year-old conquistador died penniless north of Bogotá after an expeditionary fiasco. Some literati believe Cervantes based Don Quixote on Quesada. Spain gifted the statue to Bogotá in 1960, and he hangs out in a dreary plazaleta with the tag "Rude Boy" spray-painted on his base.

Francisco de Paula Santander

A wooden sign asks Bogotanos to respect Santander Park by keeping it tidy. A few blocks away is this very well cared for statue of Francisco de Paula Santander, one of Colombia's founding fathers. Compare this to Quesada, who's been dumped in a plaza surrounded by a hodgepodge of vendors, layabouts, and porta-johns.

La Pola

La Pola was a martyr in the War of Independence. Beloved by Colombians, she sits high upon a platform at an entryway to Los Andes University, one of the country's top schools. La Pola's plazaleta is neat and tidy and her pedestal unmarked, as she looks reverentially toward the heavens, hands bound behind her back. Her serialized TV biopic last year ran the length of a Nubian goat's gestation period.

Camilo Torres

In a similar vein, the statue of Camilo Torres - another martyr to Independencia - is shielded behind a wrought-iron fence in Bolivar Plaza, his memory protected against potential defacers.

Simon Bolivar

Nearby Camilo Torres is the statue of the iconic Simon Bolivar, standing bullseye in his namesake plaza in front of the Capitolio Nacional. Surprisingly, his figure is allowed to serve as a lightening-rod for populist protest. Perhaps Bolivar was too much the liberal idealist and revolutionary to win the heartfelt affection and protection of the modern status quo, who have to deal with an interminable civil war. A sign on the base of Bolivar's statue borrows the outcry of today's Spanish youth: "Indignado!" Which can also be translated as, "Boy, are we pissed!"

Photo by elbragon

MY FIRST CHICKEN BUS broke me. Careening around the edge of a high-altitude Laotian highway back in 2007 made the possibility of death-by-terrific-fall real for the first time. In the front seat, an AK-47-clutching guard younger than I was made the likelihood of death by bandit attack only slightly less of a preoccupation for the day spent in that rampaging vehicle.

Some years, and many more chicken buses later, I’ve probably been to scarier places, but also learned along the way that much of ‘dangerous’ travel feels more like unplanned, uncalculated travel. The more I actually look into the specifics of a journey, the more I realise how much more is safely possible than my anecdotal first impressions ever suggested.

Like those guys who jump off mountains in squirrel suits.

It’s a point that photojournalist and Matador contributor Jonathan Kalan makes well in discussing the perceptions that folk back in the US typically have about traveling to unknown places:

…somewhere along the way, America lost its way. We have become a culture obsessed with and driven by fear. We now fear a single hair in our blueberry pancakes, we fear our water, vaccines, dirt, ADHD children, bee stings, air, germs and public toilet seats. It’s as if a bunch of hypochondriacs have taken hold of our politics, media, and marketing, creating a hyper-inflated culture of fear that is neurotic at best, downright wrong at worst. We fear people, strangers, when they are the ones we should have the most faith in.

He is arguing, in effect, for a distinction between danger based in calculations you have made yourself, and danger based in the calculations of others. Relying too much on the latter, means not getting on that chicken bus. Not traveling outside of places that have their own Facebook pages. And fussing over the fine details of how your dinner was cooked.

And that is because perceptions of danger based on popular culture are overstated. Tinged with the drama that the journalist adds to make a story, or the traveller adds at the bar to make the eyes of listeners grow bigger. Nobody wants to hear how you packed a first aid kit, planned your route beforehand, kept in contact with home, or otherwise thought your risks through carefully.

Nobody cares. The bar wants guns, chicken buses, and altitude.

But when you decide to travel, be willing to disregard the horrible stories you’ve been fed as the truth of a place. Sit down, do the calculations for yourself, and you will find that a great deal more becomes possible. Sometimes, you might just discover that it’s possible to drink water without boiling it.