Baedeker Fall 2017

BAEDEKER T R AV E L M A G A Z I N E

FA L L 2 0 1 7

TABLE OF CONTENTS NORTH AMERICA U.S. National Park Hopping...... 3-4

by Jake Noori Snapshot: Arches National Park, Utah........................................... 5-6

by Jake Noori Seattle, Washington: The City I Remember.................................... 7-8

by Anna Ferkingstad 24 Hours in Boston............... 9-10

by Morgan Kuin AFRICA Snapshot: Shamwari Reserve, South Africa...................................... 11-12

by Stella Levantesi The Sacred Sounds of Fez......... 13

by Dorothy Carlos

ASIA Flying High Above Turkey.... 17-18

by Saanya Ali Snapshot: Varanasi, India .... 19-20

by Mira Blecherman Mastering a Hike Up Mt. Fuji.... 21

by Hiyori Takashima OCEANIA Snapshots from the Passenger Seat 22

by Kristina Hayhurst Snapshot: Shanghai, China... 23-24

by Xinyue Huang

3

9

13

MIDDLE EAST From Za'atar to Zeitoun: A Palestinian Sunset.............................. 32

by Zein Nasser Blue and Gold....................... 33-34

by Norah Song Snapshot: Cappadocia, Turkey 35-36

by Saanya Ali DEPARTURE ............................... 37

by Editorial Staff

25 30 31

35 17 32

11 14

Isle of Skye: A Break in the Clouds 27-28

by Jack Davidson The Labyrinth of Southwest England 29

by Frances Yackel In the Shadows of Milan.............. 30

by Alessia Cutugno Not Your Average Souvenir....... 31

by Sarah LoRusso

EUROPE Me, My Bike & Amsterdam: A Love Story.......................................... 25-26

by Willa Tellekson-Flash

27 29

7 5

SOUTH AMERICA Irresistable: Food and Guilty Pleasures in Argentina...................... 14

by Avery Peterson Snapshot: Buenos Aires, Argentina ............................................... 15-16

by Clemmie Saglio

21 33

19

23

22

15 (Cover) The Imperial Hall (Hünkâr Sofası), also known as the Imperial Sofa, is a domed hall in the Topkapı Palace in Istanbul. Built in the 15th century, the palace provided residence for the Ottoman Sultans (Photo by Jack Davidson). (Right) The sun sets behind the Grand Teton in Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming (Photo by Jake Noori).

EDITORS' LETTER

E

ntering our fourth and final year with Baedeker, we hoped to hold onto the passion and momentum of the editors who preceded us. We began our first staff meeting, as we do each semester, with the question, “What is a favorite recent travel experience?” For a travel publication, this question might seem trite, but there is always a giddy smile or magical story that comes with each staff member’s response.

When we release a call for submissions at the start of each semester, we hope that members of the NYU student body are equally as excited to share their stories. We hope that our submission process encourages creativity, imagination, and engagement with the places and moments that our submitters, whether writers or photographers, capture in their work. And this semester, it was such a joy to watch exactly that unfold. Having received

more submissions than ever before, we are excited to share with you the longest publication that Baedeker has seen during our four-year tenure with the publication.

Beginning with the National Parks of the American West and ending in the sky above Turkey, this issue journeys from the noisy streets of Fez, Morocco to the narrow roads of a tiny village in England and up to the top of Japan’s Mount Fuji. Whether

riding a bicycle, the T, or a hot air balloon, our fall submitters shared tales of exploration, nostalgia, and curiosity.

We found ourselves absorbed in each piece and in each photograph, and hope that the pages of Baedeker inspire you as a reader to visit a new place, whether near or far.

ANNA FERKINGSTAD | editor in chief

JACK DAVIDSON | art director

WILLA TELLKSON-FLASH | editor in chief

MATHILDE VAN TULDER | events & distribution

ETHAN SAPIENZA | managing editor

CHEYENNE KLEINBERG | social media editor

FRANCES YACKEL | managing editor

SARAH PETERS|webmaster

JENNY LEVINE | secretary

SAM SOON | photo editor

JULIA ZITA | treasurer

ZOYA TO | illustrator

north america editors CAROLINE OGULNICK MORGAN KUIN latin america editor OPHELI LAWLER THALIA WILOTO

europe editors LILY MCMAHON HANNAH BENSON asia editors ALISON RAO OLIVIA SOTIRCHOS

africa editors BEVERLY TAN EMMA PETTIT middle east editors ZEIN NASSER KRISTINA HAYHURST

nyubaedeker@gmail.com | www.issuu.com/nyubaedeker

oceania editor MIRA BLECHERMAN layout team STEPHANIE PAN KATIE SUN SAGE LALLY ERIN PAK CLAIRE WANG SAM WINSLOW

Zion National Park

by JAKE NOORI

U.S. NATIONAL PARK HOPPING

3

I

was once under the impression that I had to fly to Europe and spend weeks hiking through the mountains of France, Switzerland, or Italy in order to see staggering peaks and breathtaking valleys. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Spanning 4,200 miles in total, the roadtrip I took with my mother took us through seven national parks in the United States. We started in Utah at Zion National Park and ended at Montana’s Glacier National Park. As we explored each new park, it felt as if the mountains grew taller and the wildlife more diverse. With my father’s Olympus OM-1 film camera resting on my hip, I devoted myself to the parks’ stunning beauty and embraced the meditative calm that each place gifted.

Arches National Park

Bryce Canyon National Park

Arches National Park

4

ARCHES NATIONAL PARK, UTAH The Double Arch, pictured here, sits within the Windows area of Arches National Park—the area with the largest concentration of natural arches in the world. This particular arch is unique in that, unlike the other arches in the park, it was formed by downward erosion rather than side-to-side water erosion.

by JAKE NOORI

Seattle, Washington The City I Remember

The city skyline, including the iconic Space Needle, from the bow of a sailboat on Lake Union.

During the late spring, summer, and early fall, sailboats of all sizes gather on the lake each Tuesday evening to race in the Duck Dodge.

I

was born and raised in a little brick house in the Ballard neighborhood of Seattle, Washington. My attachment to the city runs deep. Located on an isthmus between the Puget Sound and Lake Washington, in the northwest corner of the country, Seattle is one of the fastest growing cities in the United States today. It is increasingly unfamiliar each time I return.

Among the new bars, new trends, and new transit lines, a few of my favorite nooks and adventures remain. And through these places, experiences, and sensations that are synonymous with Seattle’s beauty, I find my footing and remember my deep-rooted love for the city.

Sitting on a sailboat in the middle of Lake Union. Legs dangling off the edge, the rolling hills and metal silos of Gas Works Park, a 19.1-acre public park on the site of the former Seattle Gas Light Company gasification plant, in the background. To the south is downtown’s skyline and to the east is Volunteer Park Conservatory, nestled among the houses of Capitol Hill.

Digging for cash to pay for a burger at the legendary fast-food stop, Dick’s Drive In. Eating the soggy french fries and slightlymelted milkshake in the backseat of a car or on the grass of the nearest neighborhood park.

Driving north in the express lanes of I-5 through the city at dusk. Waiting for the stretch between Exit 166 for Mercer Avenue and Exit 169 for 45th Street, when the barely lit office buildings of downtown open suddenly on either side of the interstate to a bridge that takes you over Portage Bay. Admiring the expansive views of Lake Union, Lake Washington, the University of Washington campus, and Queen Anne Hill.

Slurping back locally-sourced oysters at the counter of the tucked-away but forever-busy Walrus and Carpenter, one of six restaurants owned by famed and accomplished Seattlebased chef, Renee Erickson.

Walking up the steep steps from the beach at Discovery Park to the parking lot, sand stuck between my toes. Hands, arms, legs, and hair caked in saltwater and seaweed. Standing on

the metal walkway at Carkeek Park that leads from the parking lot to the beach, as a train passes rapidly on the tracks directly below.

Horns blowing, the bridge billowing.

Ordering a drink at one of the numerous bars and music venues that my parents visited in their 20s and 30s. The Sloop Tavern, the Sunset Tavern, the Showbox, or the Crocodile—no longer hosting the punk rock bands that shaped the Seattle of the 90s, but still among the most fun and special venues in the city.

Journeying less than 30 minutes outside of downtown to a location where cell reception is lost. Wandering among trees that are green year-round.

Being the first to walk down the cobblestone street, Ballard Avenue, on a Saturday evening, music and conversation pouring out of bars and restaurants. Returning again the next morning to visit the equally lively—but more homey and neighborhoody—Ballard Farmers Market that lines the avenue.

Sipping black coffee at the Ballard, Pioneer Square, or U District location of Slate.

Weaving through the shelves of Elliott Bay Book Company in Capitol Hill after breakfast at Oddfellow’s Café right next door. People watching from the window seats of any of the Seattle Coffee Works.

Visiting the iconic 24-hour diner, Beth’s Café, and ordering the weirdest assortment of pancakes, hash browns, and waffles. Waking early the next morning, catching the salty smell of low tide that still hangs in the air.

I navigate back to these places, these moments. They remain reflective of the Seattle I once knew, removed from Amazon grocery stores and Google offices. I leave my umbrella at home and rarely visit Pike Place Market or the Space Needle—representations of the unfamiliar place that my city has become. I try to ignore the increasing rush hour traffic. Instead, I welcome myself back to the city each time with a cup of coffee and a handful of Dick’s french fries.

by ANNA FERKINGSTAD

8

A

by MORGAN KUIN

24 HOURS IN BOSTON MORNING MUST-SEES

LITERARY PARADISE

9

s soon as you step off the T—the local nickname for the train— you’ll see cobblestone streets, red brick buildings, old-fashioned lamp posts, and charming store fronts. Quaint and rich with history, Boston would take several days to fully cover. But if you only have 24 hours, you’re better off filling your day with a combination of the traditional and the less conventional.

Newbury Street is the city’s shopping hub. The street is lined with popular shopping and novelty spots like Uniqlo, Urban Outfitters, and the beloved Newbury Comics. And if shopping works up an appetite, Emack & Bolio’s is a surefire spot for ice cream that you shouldn’t miss. Founded in 1975 amidst activism and rock-and-roll movements, the creamery offers crazy flavors like Cosmic Crunch and Beantown Buzz that are must-trys during your short visit.

Just a block over from Newbury Street, you should take your midday detox at the Boston Public Library. The building includes an enchanting courtyard, beautiful arcade architecture, lavish murals, and expansive, rare novelty collections. You can also stop by the front desk to grab free tickets to museums in the area.

MOST UNUSUAL SHOE STORE Considered an Easter egg of sorts, the Bodega Shoe Store is located at 6 Clearway Street. Hidden in plain sight, the shoe, cap, and sportswear shop’s entrance is disguised as a convenience store. On the back wall of the store is a Snapple machine that opens as you approach it, welcoming you into a sneakerhead’s dream.

A VISUAL ESCAPE

NOT YOUR AVERAGE BOOKSHOP

The Museum of Fine Arts and Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum sit just a few blocks apart. The MFA houses a massive collection of pieces across all ages, and though admission is steep at $23, it’s worth a visit if you can afford it—and, if you're in the Boston area for longer than just a day, you can re-use the ticket, which will last for ten days.

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is much smaller in comparison, but offers free admission with a college ID. This museum has rooms filled with Isabella Stewart Gardner’s private collection, which overlooks a beautiful garden in the museum’s courtyard. Mystery fans will take a particular liking to the Gardner Museum, as a 1990 art heist that resulted in the loss of 13 paintings has yet to be solved.

Tucked away in a side alleyway off the Boston Common, Brattle Book Shop is a three-story building overflowing with posters, comics, and books on every imaginable subject. They have an additional collection housed outdoors, packed with used classics and rare antique books. You can sift through the book carts for hidden gems while grabbing novels for one, two, three, or five dollars.

RECYCLED RETAIL THERAPY

A QUICK GARDEN STOP Boston is riddled with gardens.

The ideal escape from city life, and a personal favorite, are the Fenway Victory Gardens, which cover 7.5 acres near the Berklee College of Music.

However, more plant life is hiding at the often overlooked atrium on Merrimac Street near the TD Garden, or the Cambridge Center Roof Garden, which can be found a few steps from the Kendall T-stop.

Though located in Cambridge, it is easy to get to Garment District on the T. Within its gaudy pink walls, the warehouse fulfills all of your costume and clothing needs.

The first floor holds a comprehensive selection of costume pieces and, to put it kindly, a sea of clothing. You can fill a bag with anything that you find in the mounds on the floor for only a dollar per pound. On the second floor is a vast thrift store with clothing sorted into racks of flannels, leather jackets, and more.

10

SHAMWARI RESERVE, SOUTH AFRICA A grazing herd of female impalas, whose sex can be distinguished by their lack of horns, are seen in a game reserve in South Africa's Eastern Cape.

by STELLA LEVANTESI

the sacred sounds of Fez

by DOROTHY CARLOS

T

he Fez Festival of World Sacred Music, held annually in late spring, is one of the world’s largest international music events. Despite what the festival’s name may lead you to believe, many of the acts are not sacred in a religious sense.

In fact, many of the events are considered sacred simply because the artists were precious to the community from which they came. I saw more than a few pop and rock & roll bands—at times making me feel like I was at Bonnaroo.

An all-access festival pass will cost you $360, but will get you into a full week of musical events.

The cost of staying in Fez is quite cheap, so your stay shouldn’t cost you much more than the cost of your festival pass. If you are looking for a more authentic Moroccan music experience, though, the festival also holds events, free and open to the public, that showcase musicians from Northern Africa.

Prior to attending this year’s festival, I had no idea that I would be just as struck by the sounds of

13

the city as I would by those of the festival. Fez has a musical energy that filled me with awe. Being in the city was a truly unique auditory experience.

The urban structure of Fez is called a medina—a large maze of narrow streets that are only accessible by foot, motor bike, or donkey. Those with large animals or carts trying to get through yell Balak, which is essentially Moroccan Arabic for “get out of the way,” in order to warn pedestrians that if they don’t move, they might get run over.

These shouts, combined with the calls from street vendors and loud claps of metal castanets played by street performers, make the soundscape of the markets quite chaotic. The cacophony of urban noise fills these areas with energy—similar to the streets of New York City.

If you are brave enough to venture a little deeper within the medina, it is actually quite peaceful, but the soundscape does not lose its energy. When exploring the more authentic parts of Fez, away from the markets, it is easy to pick up on a kind of rhythmic energy produced within the communities. When walking through the craftsmen's section of the medina, I heard the synchronized rhythm of the metal workers striking their handiwork, creating a wonderful polyphony with pots and pans. I began to notice music within even the most domestic aspects of life inside the medina. I had never experienced sound the way I did in Fez. The city is a playground for sound, making it the perfect destination for one of the most celebrated international music events in the world.

IRRESISTABLE FOOD AND GUILTY PLEASURES IN ARGENTINA

by AVERY PETERSON

I

tried to stay away, but this time I had to make an exception.

Usually, for environmental reasons, I am able to successfully avoid eating beef. However, Argentina is best known for its steak and wine, thanks to the country’s vast grasslands, ideal soil conditions, and perfect climate. Obviously, we were going to have to try what is widely known to be the best beef in the world.

The traditional cut is called Bife de Chorizo. Compared to a skirt steak, it is a little bit thicker, contains a little bit more fat around the edges, and is overall more tender. Every street corner in the country is decorated with a Parilla, a grill that will always have chorizo and vegetables

grilling on the side, as well as big, juicy slabs of meat that are put on the grill upon request and served fresh. There is also an abundance of bakeries that serve fresh alfajores (two soft cookies sandwiched together with a generous helping of creamy dulce de leche), pastelitos (little cakes with all sorts of creams and toppings), and Italian style cookies.

Argentina has firm Italian and Latin American roots. This influences, of course, the food.

You’ll be able to find a plethora of cafés that serve pizza and bistros that serve noodles handmade in-house. But the most common places to dine in Argentina, are Parilla, commonly called "Lo" by the locals. These places can be

very casual, serving you from a counter, or rather fancy, serving you on tables draped with white tablecloths or at wine bars.

If you ever find yourself in Argentina, I have a few recommendations for you to ensure you take full advantage of the culinary scene. For lunch, I would suggest going with the restaurants Menu del Día which often includes bread, a salad, a healthy portion of meat, a little pastry, and a hot drink. For dinner, I would suggest getting yourself a cut of Argentinian steak and pairing it with a glass of deep purple Malbec, made from grapes only found in Argentina.

14

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA Meat vendors, touting succulent, tender chorizo and other cuts of red meat, are a staple in Argentina, as the country's vast grasslands are a haven for cattle.

by CLEMMIE SAGLIO

17

above turkey

FLYING HIGH

by SAANYA ALI

L

ittle seems logical at 4:30 AM other than caffeine. Bundled in layers of summer clothes—a feeble attempt to safeguard against the Central Anatolian morning chill—we departed. A silent thirty-minute drive later, the sun began to tease through the mountains and we disembarked in a field of boulders. Dozens of balloons in varying states of inflation lay on the ground, tethered to baskets. Fires roared intermittently as if competing with one another to grow up first. No number of viewings of UP nor readings of Around the World in Eighty Days would have prepared me to fathom their enormity. At 5 AM, my sleepwashed brain deluded me into thinking I was at a giant’s birthday party, causing me to pull my hood further down my face, desperate to postpone reality for five minutes longer. It wasn’t until the ascent that it hit me. Listening to the incomprehensible, untranslated safety instructions, we rose higher and higher, faces warmed by the propane fueled afterburners. I was immobile. Normally, I am the kind of person who lusts over lenses—there is little that will prevent me from wanting to pull out my camera.

In this case, I traveled to Turkey with more camera equipment than clothing, excited to shoot every sleeping cat and minaret, but at 5:30 AM, as the landscape below became exceedingly cartoon-like with distance, I was paralyzed. In that moment, the basket full of formerly quiet international strangers gave up their efforts to maintain a polite sense of distance and decorum. I was finally awake.

18

VARANASI, INDIA India's spiritual capital Varanasi is located in the northeastern region of Uttar Pradesh. A flock of seagulls dominates the sky over the Ganges River.

by MIRA BLECHERMAN

Mastering a Hike Up Mt. Fuji S

O 0D

D AN

by HIYORI TAKASHIMA

TS

D

' ON

1

1.

DO prepare yourself for rain. It will rain at least once during the hike, so bring rain gear...unless, of course, you want a sopping wet backpack!

2.

DO NOT take Mt. Fuji lightly! It may seem like you only have to pass several stations from your start to the summit, but the terrain and conditions require some attention. Make sure you have proper hiking gear—a solid pair of hiking boots, at least. Many tourists race up in their Converse and Nike sneakers, but this footwear makes getting to the top even trickier. You will probably ruin your shoes—and your ankles—if you are not careful.

3.

DO bring cash, especially coins! The shacks on the mountain do not accept credit cards, so having extra cash is crucial while hiking. Coins will come in especially handy as you climb higher into colder temperatures, when purchasing a cup of warm hot chocolate at a rest stop sounds increasingly heavenly.

4.

DO bring warm clothes. The climbing season starts in the beginning of July, but don’t let the warm temperatures at the base of the mountain fool you! Once you begin to approach the summit, you will likely face frigid temperatures. If you don’t come prepared, the mountain huts where you can spend the night will have thick, warm coats to rent for a reasonable fee.

5.

21

DO NOT rush up the mountain. Considering how high Mt. Fuji is—12,389 feet—the first half of the hike is pretty mellow. But eight hours of hiking per day will take a toll on your body. It is better to be cautious while approaching the summit than overly confident and consequently sick.

6.

DO bring water and extra snacks to enjoy while you rest. Purchasing water at the top of the mountain can be extremely pricey—up to ten dollars for a half-liter bottle!

7.

DO be conscious of the altitude and your breathing.

Veteran mountain guides will tell you to exhale over a long period of time while ascending, as if you are “blowing out your birthday candles.” This will help prevent headaches and nausea. If you know you are prone to altitude sickness, though, consider bringing an oxygen can.

8.

DO buy a climbing stick and decorate it! You can purchase a climbing stick at the fifth station and brand an emblem on it before you begin hiking.

This can serve as your personalized souvenir from the hike, so it’s worth the money. Keep in mind that the stick is long, so give a little thought to the best way to pack it to ensure that it leaves Japan with you.

9.

DO take advantage of the country’s hot springs, called onsen in Japanese, after your hike. The minerals in the water will make your skin silky smooth and warm you up from the core—a treat after a long hike! This part of the experience is unique and is the perfect way to conclude your time on Mt. Fuji.

10.

Lastly, DO NOT spend too much time documenting the trip on your phone. Practice putting down your phone in order to truly be present in the moment.

Mount Fuji is definitely photogenic and Instagramworthy, but your camera cannot capture the full extent of the breathtaking landscape around you.

NEW ZEALAND

snapshots from the passenger seat

by KRISTINA HAYHURST

A

round 3 in the afternoon, somewhere on the east coast of New Zealand, my eyes were jolted open by the speed of our van, racing down the side of a steep mountain. To my left, jagged cliffs fell into the Tasman Sea, while expansive hills of emerald green trees faded into the heart of the South Island on my right. For the next seven days and 1,611 kilometers, the dashboard of our van was the only constant in the ever-changing New Zealand landscape. Beneath the window pane, someone had printed in Sharpie, “You will see the most breathtaking views out of this window.” Those words couldn't have been more true.

With very few days to see the country, my friends and I decided to rent two vans and drive all the way from Queenstown to Auckland. The first half of the trip was spent traversing the South Island. The landscape was treacherous—my stomach lurched constantly as we rounded turn after turn on the winding paths of the cliffs. Driving our camper down one-way roads felt like tempting fate. Nothing stood between us and the 50-foot plummet into the sea. Beyond the window I saw lush rainforests contrasted by quickly-melting glaciers. I saw rocks shaped like pancakes, and dolphins commuting in the ocean below.

Slowly, the cliffs gave way to small, seaside towns, and eventually to vast countrysides of green grass.

Farms and grazing sheep dotted the horizon for kilometers on end until we finally reached the edge of the island.

When we hopped onto a ferry, the views changed from green to blue.

While the winding roads had been tumultuous, nothing could have prepared us for the threehour roller coaster on the waves.

The windows of the boat were splashed with water, but most of the time we kept our eyes closed, feigning sleep and thinking about sheep.

Once on the North Island, we traded the treacherous landscape for a more navigable terrain.

This part of the country is much more populated, and, rather than counting sheep, we saw people walking the city streets and hitchhiking on the side of the road. Instead of glaciers, we then rowed through glowworm caves and swam in hot springs. From the passenger side window, I then watched the landscape change from cityscapes and winding hills to small hobbit holes and willow trees.

At night we slept in the back of our van, which folded out into a bed. Looking straight up through the sunroof, the stars were usually visible in the sky. Many nights the Southern Cross—a constellation that appears on New Zealand’s national flag—was starkly visible against the background of the Milky Way. On the last night of the trip, I stayed awake into the early hours of the morning, watching the moon rise outside of that window. It illuminated the whole countryside, shedding light onto all the houses that dotted the small, green hills. I watched it shift from one side of the sky to the other, getting so bright that it drowned out the multitude of stars in the background. In the next few hours, the light slowly softened as the moon reluctantly sank beneath the horizon just as I reluctantly prepared to leave the breathtaking country behind.

22

SHANGHAI, CHINA A merchant naps at one of Shanghai's many outdoor markets. Although malls and shopping centers are becoming more popular in China's largest city, many residents still choose to visit these more traditional outdoor market spaces.

by XINYUE HUANG

25

Me, My Bike & Amsterdam A LOVE STORY

by WILLA TELLEKSON-FLASH days end late, zooming down tourists are taking pictures of as

I

haven’t even moved into my apartment in Amsterdam when I buy myself a bicycle. It might have been smart to wait until I had set up a Dutch bank account to avoid an international withdrawal fee, but my excitement gets the best of me. A giddy smile is plastered to my face when I hand the shop owner five crisp 20-euro bills and walk out the front door with my new black bike.

She is my key to the city. I name her Florence and crown her handlebars with a garland of pink plastic flowers. (Naming your bicycle is a crucial part of the experience, if you ask me, as you’ll be spending many of your waking hours on its back.) I have been in the city for a mere 72 hours—I don’t even know where the closest grocery store is—but standing next to Florence instills in me a deep sense of confidence. I’m not just a visitor. I live here. Like every other resident, I have a bicycle.

Throughout the five months that I live in Amsterdam, there is rarely a day that goes by without a bike ride (or five). Whether it is cold and drizzling or gloriously sunny, biking remains my most common form of transportation, and my favorite way to get around.

Some days start amidst the congestion of morning commuters taking over the bike paths. Other

empty bike lanes, pedaling alongside dear friends, singing our way home after a night out. And as the days, weeks, months go by, I begin to realize that I’ve learned the tiny streets and intersecting canals from the back of my bicycle.

I know how far I am from home when I pass the slightly sunken houseboat with plants covering every inch of its deck. I have a detour to avoid the tourist traffic in front of the Rijksmuseum, saving me from accidentally bulldozing a pedestrian who doesn’t think to look both ways before stepping into the bike path. You could blindfold me, spin me in circles, and drop me in the city center, and I’d still be able to navigate my way to the cozy cafés that I inhabit equally as frequently as my own apartment.

I am surprised to realize how deep an affection I have for the things that Amsterdam is known for so stereotypically. I smile at the slanted rooftops as I bike over a tiny bridge that crosses one of the smaller canals. The houses that lean ever-so-slightly (but very noticeably) seem to whisper “This is Amsterdam” in my ear.

Pedaling up the incline of the drawbridges that connect one bank of the Amstel River to the other requires a little extra effort.

I ring my bell and hold my place in the pack of cyclists, and realize that I am one of the people that

we confidently pedal past.

On my last night in Amsterdam, I go for an extra long bike ride.

As the sun sets, lights flicker on, illuminating the bellies of the many bridges that connect the streets of the city center. I pass by the tiny boat painted with rainbow stripes, the abandoned barge that has vines growing out of its insides, and the statuesque houseboat with patio furniture on its bow.

I’ve seen these boats hundreds of times. I bike through one park and then another, past the groups of twenty-somethings drinking beer and playing guitar, past the couple walking their dog. I relish in the safety of the bike paths, nothing like the poorly protected lanes of Manhattan.

The Amsterdam I know—the Amsterdam I love—is the view from my bicycle. It’s the shared experience of a thick layer of moisture coating every face on a rainy day ride. It’s the momentum gained zooming down the side of a bridge. It’s the enchanting architecture that continues far past the limits of the historic city center. It’s the three children balanced on their father’s bicycle on the way to school. Amsterdam is a city full of art, full of history, and full of surprises, but one cannot truly feel the power of the city without mounting a bicycle and winding along the maze of stone streets and charming canals.

26

A Break in the Clouds

T

by JACK DAVIDSON

he local Scotts told me they had not seen this weather since the previous year. Blue skies and warm temperatures are rare in Scotland, but its typically cool and wet climate maintains a landscape as green as they come. My visit to Skye coincidently coincided with the island’s yearly bout of sunshine. Without the soak of rain, I spent the week trudging over rolling hills, through sheep meadows, and along the coast. As it turns out, the island’s blanket of green grasses and mosses is even more impressive in the sun.

A sheep standing in a pasture near Culnacnoc

Allt Coir’ a’ Mahdaidh, a river near Glen Brittle

Flodigarry, a small town on the northern end of Skye

28

The Labyrinth of Southwest England

by FRANCES YACKEL

W

hen I heard that my neighbor was moving to the UK in order to live with his British girlfriend, whom he had serendipitously met on a service trip to Africa, I pictured a small apartment in the sprawling suburbs of London. Having spent most of our lives in a comically small town in Vermont, where there are more cows than there are people, I thought Sam would want to leave the rural life behind to live in a city. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He left our small town America for an even smaller village in Devonshire— Broadhempston—where the only reason the cows don’t outnumber the people is because there is no space for them. Sam got down on one knee for the woman whom he had followed to this new home in southwest England, so naturally my friends and family journeyed over to celebrate their engagement.

Simply getting to this village was an adventure. We took a train from London to Exeter, where we had to rent a car. Our instructions from the happy couple to get

29

to their house sounded like the directions to a fantasy, like they were leading us down a yellow brick road: “Drive south on the Devon Expressway/A38. And once you get into the villages of Devon, take a left at the first crossroads, go straight through the following crossroads, past the farms where you’ll see a field of cows, and turn right at the next crossroads. Our house will be on the left, past the Monk’s Retreat Pub.” There are no road names. There are barely even roads. Instead, lanes that haven’t been improved since the time when people traveled in horse and buggy.

Our friends had warned us about the difficulty of navigating these narrow lanes, but nothing could properly prepare us for the journey. The meandering lanes are enclosed by stone walls eightfoot high, covered completely by vines, giving passengers the feeling of traveling through David Bowie’s enchanted labyrinth. But the most exciting, and terrifying, part of driving through Devon is coming face-to-face with oncoming cars. The lanes, which

barely wide enough to fit a small car, couldn’t possibly fit two cars side-by-side, and the vine-covered walls on either side don’t allow for cars to pass one another. As a result, when we found ourselves driving head-on into another car, our headlights perfectly aligned with theirs. My brother would slam on the brakes and, after the initial shock of the quick stop, we would sit in a staring contest with the other driver. Squaring off, we would decide through the powerful language of eye-contact which car would back up through the twisty and unpaved lanes to find the nearest alcove in the wall, so that the two cars could squeeze by one another.

When we got to the lovers’ house in Broadhemptson, we let out a collective exhale and backtracked, on foot, to Monk’s Retreat Pub for a celebratory pint of ale. We’re already looking forward to going back to this enchanted—though lifethreatening—village to celebrate their wedding.

T

raveling from inner city Milan outwards to the Corpi Santi di Milan, the roads follow the Navigli canals. Everything radiates a peaceful emptiness, human and natural at once, but also hauntingly abandoned. A mere ten minutes from Italy’s bustling international hub, the area feels like a forgotten vestige of the once romantic Italian countryside. The highway borders various borghi (small villages) but also former farmlands that have been cleared from overuse, and deteriorating brick and stucco buildings.

The decaying gaps of this unfamiliar landscape provoke an inevitable curiosity. The former Corpi Santi di Milan, or Holy Bodies of Milan, is located today within Milan's suburbs. Formerly a distinct administrative division of Italy, the Corpi Santi now extends in a ring around the city, variably 6km from the former city walls.

Annexed to Milan in the late 19th century, the area today, as modern-day suburbs, still partially retains its historical agricultural and industrial identity. However, recently, development and the rise of commercial and leisure complexes (like malls and corporate parks) has produced a tension between the old and new ways of living.

Suburban regrowth merges with the decay.

The picture of the romantic Italian countryside does live on, but not here. The landscape of the Corpi Santi is dramatically flat. On the rare day that air quality allows, it is possible to see through the clearings along the one-lane highways to city and village clusters hundreds of meters in the distance. The dynamic Alps sit even further north and west in the distance. But the overused fields of the Corpi Santi were abandoned decades ago. Instead, it is not uncommon for wealthy Milanese families to maintain charming country homes with vineyards and olive groves hundreds of kilometers to the south and north. What is left of the area is instead unique contradictions: abandoned industrial complexes turned social housing, old villages

teeming with virile life around warehouses, and new commercial development bordering small family homes and farmhouses, occupied on all sides by vines and grasses.

And like the landscape, the culture here also seems torn between legacies old and new, connection to and autonomy from the city. The borghini (townspeople) still cling in some ways to their former identities and traditions. Village panifici (bakeries) and pasticcerie (pastry shops) still sit on corners but the daily bread is bought alongside groceries at cheaper and larger Carrefour centers. For many low- and modestincome workers, the suburban landscape allows for living costs that are impossible to come by in the increasingly inaccessible city center.

When I think of the Corpi Santi, I think of larger national policies and trends, including Italy’s well-publicized schemes to ‘fix’ their economically poor and shrinking suburbs. “This charming town in Italy will pay you to move there” and “Italy to give away more than 100 castles, inns and monasteries for free.” For some, these headlines were imaginative and full of entrepreneurial potential. To the residents of the Corpi Santi who I have met and spoken with, however, the degrading landscape seems impractical.

Driving through, on the way to a small farmhouse restaurant that serves the greater part of the local population at lunchtime, it is easy to become acutely aware of these tensions and realities. All of our neighbors know the five farmhouse cats by name, and the restaurant is much more a hospitable neighbor’s dining room than an enterprise. The colors of the farmhouse are faded, much like its surroundings, but the decay isn’t to be mistaken for lack of life. To develop the cleared farmland and deteriorating villas of the Corpi Santi would overlook the inhabitants’ unique dedication to togetherness and relationships.

In the Shadows of Milan

WHERE EVERYTHING IS BEAUTIFUL BUT FALLING APART

by ALESSIA CUTUGNO

30

I

brought five pairs of shoes with me when I left for a semester in Florence; tall black boots to get me through the remainder of the winter, flip flops for the Mediterranean weekends that I dreamed of, flat sandals for sunny exploring, a pair of fashionable black booties for nights out, and, surprisingly most importantly, a pair of old, black sneakers.

The sneakers were a bit old and tattered, but I couldn’t get myself to part ways with them.

I was by no means an experienced traveler, and couldn’t imagine what my semester abroad would be like, but had been reminded time and time again that this would be my opportunity to expose myself in new experiences and immerse myself in a completely different way of living.

The first month was a time of dramatic transition. Often out of my comfort zone, I found myself craving familiarity. Instead of buying Italian delicacies and gift shop souvenirs, I decided to lace

but my feet continued falling one in front of the other in spite of the chill nipping at my face. It was one of the only times I ran without stopping to check my pace.

A bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of tourists in Amsterdam, I sought out my shoes once more.

Running those magical canal lined streets, my anxieties began to diminish as I began to familiarize myself with the quaint cafés and the old architecture.

My sneakers are the reason I know Florence like the back of my hand. I could tell you how to get from Santa Maria Novella train station to a destination far from the central piazzas, not because I memorized maps before my Florentine arrival, but because I ran those streets once— sometimes even twice—a day. And when I came home four and a half months later, the worn out soles and slightly ripped laces turned out to be the best souvenir of all.

NOT YOUR AVERAGE souvenir

by SARAH LORUSSO

31

up my running shoes and pound some new pavement, just as I would do back home.

My shoes took me through the Piazza del Duomo every morning by seven o’clock, bringing me to the middle of the Ponte Vecchio, where I would sit and take in the sunrise across the Arno. After warm evening runs, my feet often found their ways to my favorite gelato spot, La Carraia, for a cup of the best stracciatella I’ve ever tasted.

The same sneakers ran from the Paris Metro to the Eiffel Tower, where my roommate and I stood, glued in place, as we watched the tower light up for the first time at midnight. In the same shoes, my roommate and I escaped a tour group and trekked to the top of Montmartre, basking in the glow of golden hour with stomachs full of macarons.

My sneakers ran me through the breathtaking Swiss Alps in Interlaken. The morning air was no more than twenty-five degrees,

FROM ZA’ATAR TO ZEITOUN: A PALESTINIAN SUNSET

by ZEIN NASSER

F

ar from the busy streets of Ramallah, and only accessible via a winding, rocky path that snakes treacherously uphill, sits the Palestinian village of Ein Qiniya. We arrived at the trail a couple of hours before sunset, hoping to reach the top in time to catch the sun’s descent across the mountainous landscape and take in the breathtaking views of the West Bank that we had heard so much about. Our car parked at the bottom, we set off on our hike.

The route up was a steep one.

The path was poorly paved and was made all the more difficult by the swarms of mosquitoes, buzzing in our ears. As we trekked upwards, we passed a number of drystone huts that were built during the Ottoman Empire, and used by farmers to store harvested figs and olives. As urbanization increases throughout Palestine, and the number of villagers declines, these huts have been left to decay. Their natural form,

however, harmonizes perfectly with the stony mountains and terrace lands on which they stand, blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape. Ironically enough, the Arabic word for the stone huts is qaser, which means palace, yet their simplicity is far from reminiscent of anything royal.

As we weaved further up the path, trudging through overgrown shrubs, the smell of thyme began to fill the air. Squinting into the distance, we spotted vast fields of za’atar, or wild thyme. The sight was exciting enough to motivate us to quicken our pace. Only upon reaching the field did we notice the long stretch of barbed wire standing tall and barricading entry into the fields. Determined, we managed to wedge open a wiry gate, which let out a loud squeak as we snuck in. Overcome with enthusiasm, we filled our pockets with both za’atar and maramia— sage—the aromas of which left

aromas lingering on our fingertips as we trekked on.

Continuing on towards the top of the mountain, we passed Palestinian villagers, or fellaheen, herding their flocks of sheep in the distance. Once we reached the peak, the sun had already begun to descend, and the sky bled hues of reds, oranges, and yellows. Fruitful and evergreen olive trees sprawled across the horizon, their roots sowed deeply into the hard, rocky land.

In the distance, standing in stark contrast to the beauty of the olive trees, were scatterings of glaring Israeli settlements. The structures took up space on the horizon as an ever-present reminder of the ongoing occupation.

As dusk settled in, we began to make our way back down the hill, inhaling the strong smell of thyme and sage that surrounded our every step, following us on the rocky descent towards home.

32

BLUE AND GOLD

by NORAH SONG

B

lue skies, white mosques, and golden sand color the tableau of Abu Dhabi. With beautifully manicured gardens and magnificent white marbled architecture, the city gives an impressive welcome. The Sheikh Zayed Mosque was built with white marble imported from Greece and Macedonia, 24-karat gold, and features Swarovski crystal in the main prayer hall. The marble floor showcases an elegant floral design, enhancing the beauty of the religious center. Looking at it from the outside, the impeccable pop of white presents a sharp contrast against the untainted blue sky.

After visiting the mosque, I continued my journey on a desert safari. While many prefer to go to the desert after dark, I traveled there in the afternoon instead, when I could enjoy the burning sun, shining brightly onto the golden sand. As I stepped onto the desert sand, my feet instantly sunk in. The snaking patterns in the sand throughout the landscape were striking, and with a strong wind, they changed form by the minute. I snacked on dates while watching the flaxen sand swirl down the dunes, and wondered if there could possibly be anything more enjoyable.

34

CAPPADOCIA, TURKEY A region visited primarly by tourists in search of a hot air balloon adventure, Cappadocia is home to conical rock formations nicknamed "fairy chimneys," which can be seen in the upper right corner of this photo.

by SAANYA ALI

LAKE BLED, CROATIA

by AVERY PETERSON

Editor’s Picks

by XIAOHUI WU

COPENHAGEN, DENMARK

From the damp shores of Lake Bled, Croatia, to the lush parks of Copenhagen, Denmark, each issue of Baedeker is left with photographs that are too noteworthy to miss.

37

BAEDEKER is the student travel magazine of NYU. All rights reserved. Š 2017