Baedeker Fall 2015

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

FA L L 2 0 1 5

Editor’s Letter

Baedeker’s Northern Italy Karl Baedeker 12th Remodelled Edition, 1903

africa & middle east editors JENNA ELLIS LILY McMAHON europe editors DHIKA HIMAWAN WILLA TELLEKSON-FLASH asia editors LUCY HWANG ZANE WARMAN

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hank you for reading Baedeker, New York University’s student-published travel magazine. To kick off this issue, I would like to take the opportunity to answer a few questions that people ask me (or that I wish people would ask me) often.

First of all, it’s pronounced BAY-deh-ker, with the emphasis on the first syllable. The word is a German surname, but to those unfamiliar with the German language it can sometimes be confusing. I know this because over the last three years, I have heard an impressive range of variations on the name of this magazine.

My hope is that this note will help rectify that, because it really is a nice name.

The name Baedeker comes from the family of one Karl Baedeker, a German publisher who founded Verlag Karl Baedeker publishing house in 1827, which became the gold standard for tourist guidebooks.

Starting in the 1850s and continuing to as recently as the 1970s, Baedeker and his descendants published hundreds of travel guides mostly in German, English, and French. These guides provided travelers with colorful maps and pages upon pages of information on routes, logistics, culture, and important sites in diverse locations. It is in the spirit of these guides, that we bring you our magazine.

This semester, we worked to put together one of our best issues yet. We are continuing to improve on our design with additional staff members dedicated to layout, design, and photography. We are proud to present some stunning images and compelling stories in this issue, and we hope that what you read here will insprire you to travel and explore the world around you as Karl Baedeker envisioned nearly two centuries ago.

Scott Mullen

SCOTT MULLEN | editor in chief KARI SONDE | managing editor ANNA FERKINGSTAD | managing editor CHRISTINA WANG | art director SAM SOON | photo editor ANA LOPES | web editor

layout team ALEXIS SHOTKOSKI CHEYENNE KLEINBERG ELLEN OH HANNAH GARCIA LAURA BURKE JACK DAVIDSON

CARLY SMITH | social media coordinator ZOYA TO | illustrator latin america & oceania editors DAKSHAYANI SHANKAR MERILYN CHANG

north america editors CELINE SIDANI MATHILDE VAN TULDER

nyubaedeker.wordpress.com | nyubaedeker@gmail.com

AFRICA 5 Places to Hang with Wildlife........ 3-4

ASIA Exploring Japan.............................. 14

Morocco........................................... 5

Snapshot: Tokyo, Japan............ 15-16

by Sarah Peters

by Sera Barbieri

NORTH AMERICA Up with the Angels........................... 6

by Willa Tellekson-Flash

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Columbus Weekend...................... 7-8

by Calvin Lord

Snapshot: Nice, France................ 9-10

by Peter Slattery

LATIN AMERICA The Market..................................... 11

by Michael DeLuca

by Michael DeLuca

Breathe in Busan............................. 17

by Su Young Lee

Shanghai: A Fledging Art Scene..... 18

by Michael DeLuca

MIDDLE EAST Art Among the Sands of Kuwait..... 19

by Yasmena Al Mulla

An Oasis in the Desert............... 19-20

by Shervin Abdolhamidi

by Daniel Yeom

EUROPE Festival Guide for the Backpacker... 21

by Laura Burke

Icelandic Airwaves...............................22-24

Young and Tongue Tied.......................12 OCEANIA A Guide to Kaki Limas..................... 13

by Dhika Himawan

by Emily Albert

by Lily McMahon

Snapshot: S贸lheimasandur........ 25-26

by Jenna Ellis

Stopover in Cinque Terre............. 27-28

by Sam Gutierrez

DEPARTURE ................................. 29

by Editorial Staff

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Handlettering on pages 14, 19, and 20 by ANNA FERKINGSTAD (cover) The transportation of the day takes a break after hours spent trekking through the vast dunes of the Sahara Desert. photo by SERA BARBIERI

BY TAHNSARAH PETERS

5 PLACES TO HANG WITH WILDLIFE IN KENYA

by SARAH PETERS

traddling the equator, Ol Pejeta Conservancy lies in the Laikipia district in central Kenya. In addition to more common African wildlife (such as zebras and giraffes), Ol Pejeta is home to several endangered species. For example, Ol Pejeta contains over 100 nearly extinct black rhinos, making it the largest black rhino conservancy in East Africa. Other endangered animals in the conservancy include the lesser known African wild dog, the oryx, and the bateared fox. Ol Pejeta is also the only chimpanzee sanctuary in Kenya. Chimpanzees are not native to Kenya, so all the chimpanzees are rescued from west and central Africa. Ol Pejeta Conservancy offers visitors the rare experience of not only learning about all of these endangered animals, but experiencing wildlife conservancy in action.

Giraffe Manor

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iraffe Manor is located in the Karen suburb of Nairobi. It is a large colonial style mansion with giraffes roaming the grounds. There are many opportunities to see giraffes in Kenya, but Giraffe Manor allows you the chance to get a little more intimate with these tall creatures. Upon arriving at the Manor, the giraffe keepers give you various pellets to feed to the giraffes. It may seem unsettling at first, but it’s easy to warm up to these friendly animals—you can feed them by placing pellets in your palm or by putting them in your mouth get the creatures to kiss you. Inside the mansion, which doubles as a five star hotel, these giant mammals stick their heads through the window so you can continue to feed them. When you want a break, you can sit in one of the mansion’s cozy nooks sipping tea and eating scones, while watching the giraffes roam. As part of a conservation project, these giraffes live at the Manor until they are ready to be taken back to their home.

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he Maasai Mara, or to Kenyans the “Mara”, is a large game reserve west of Nairobi in Narok. What is unique about the Mara compared to other reserves that it has a spectacular view of the wildebeest migration. Each year, the wildebeest of East Africa embark on a migration to Tanzania and from July to August, can be seen moving through the Mara.The migration is nicknamed the “World Cup for Wildlife”, because of all the obstacles that the wildebeest must overcome to make it through the Mara.

The stamina of the wildebeests is impressive; safari-goers can watch as they outsmart the carnivores that roam the reserve in addition to the crocodiles in the rivers.

Maasai Mara

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Ol Pejeta Conservancy

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Hell’s Gate National Park

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orthwest of Nairobi and south of Lake Naivasha lies Hell’s Gate National Park. Named after a small opening in its cliffs, Hell’s Gate National Park is the perfect place for bird fanatics. It is home to over a hundred birds species, even the rarely spotted lammergeyer vulture, also known as the bearded vulture) Visitors are welcome to bike, hike, and motorcycle through the park. You can bike alongside grazing zebras and see endangered servals, a type of African wildcat. Many think that Hell’s Gate was the inspiration for the setting of Disney’s The Lion King.

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David Sheldrick Elephant Orphanage

ocated on the outskirts of Nairobi, the David Sheldrick Elephant Orphanage is one of the leading conservation organizations devoted to elephants in East Africa. At the orphanage, the keepers talk to you about their conservation efforts and teach you about the elephants. Then you are taken outside to an area where you can feed baby elephants with bottles, pet them, and even jump in the mud to play with them! Afterwards, you are given the option to take part in conservation efforts by adopting an elephant calf.

photos by RAYAN DUTTA

MOROCCO

Night falls on the Sahara Desert after a ten hour car journey from Marrakech up the winding roads of the Atlas Mountains. Through the barren plains of golden sand dunes reaching up to 350 meters high, you’ll find the village of Merzouga. Perhaps you will even stumble across folk dancing and music on your journey.

by SERA BARBIERI

MERZOUGA, SAHARA DESERT

SKALA DU PORT, ESSAOUIRA A harbor full of fishing boats creates a sea of nautical blue at Skala du Port. A large bustling port, it is full of the production of traditional wooden boats.

These bright blue boats are an iconic part of the town of Essaouira where fishing is a predominant part of the economy.

SAADIAN TOMBS, MARRAKECH Guarded by an army of stray kittens, the extravagant tombs of Saadian Sultan Ahmed alMansour ed Dahbi are adorned with glistening Italian marble and gilded honeycomb accents, protecting the Sultan, his 170 chancellors, and his wives since his death in 1603.

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unzipped the flap of my tent before the sun had risen. At 6 A.M., the campground was already warming up. I glanced up at the stars as I lit my camp stove. The red canyon walls drew a skyline, jutting up into the deep purple sky. The oatmeal at my picnic table tasted better than a lazy Sunday pancake brunch, I thought to myself as I poured over the trail maps between bites, preparing myself for the day’s trek.

A blister on the side of my right foot whined as I stepped into my hiking boots. Pulling the laces tight, I felt all the more ready for an adventure. As light started to creep over the canyon walls, I made my way towards the shuttle stop. The earlier the start, the better. Zion National Park overlaps with the Mojave Desert region, making August a sweltering month for a hiking trip.

Temperatures often creep into triple digits with the sun directly overhead, and not even the occasional cluster of trees is capable of providing a haven of shade. If I wasn’t out of the sun by noon, I was not going to be a happy camper.

I peered out of the shuttle window as it weaved from trailhead to trailhead on the canyon floor.

Looking up at the peaks and plateaus of the canyon, I wondered which one would be my destination.

Better not to know, I thought. Now, I am not afraid of heights—just cautious—but the stories of fellow hikers whose nerves and vertigo had gotten the best of them halfway up made my stomach do somersaults. Angel’s Landing is known for its tedious climb. Named for its height—it was thought that only angels could reach it since it was so high—this hike had a reputation to uphold.

I filled up my extra water bottle at the Grotto shuttle stop, just in case, and crossed the road to reach the trailhead for Angel’s Landing. The temperatures continued to rise with the sun, climbing in the cloudless sky. A footbridge took me across the Virgin River—Utah’s first wild river—and I headed north along the West Rim Trail. My trusty hiking boots, originally a greyish blue, were now covered in cakey-brown from the desert floor. The trail quickly turned to pavement though, and after a brief yet strenuous ascent, I reached a series of switchbacks. A section known as Walter’s Wiggles approached; the trail snakes side to side as it climbs to the top of Refrigerator Canyon. Although the trail had been steep up to this point, when I

reached the top o f t he Wiggles and took in my fi rst breathtaking view of the V irgi n River and the canyon fl oor from Scout’s Lookout, I knew the challenge had only just begun.

As I looked towards the summit, my eyes followed the trail—as narrow as a piece of string—perched atop the fin of the mountain. I tried to forget about the 500 foot elevation gain and steep drop-offs that the next half-mile held. But I felt brave as I placed one foot in front of the other and followed the other brave souls in front of me upwards. The wind took a deep breath and started whistling in my ears. I grabbed the chain to my left, bolted to the rock wall.

The climb didn’t feel quite as scary, knowing that this heavy chain had supported countless climbers before me. But my body was still tense as I crawled across sections of the trail without the chain or peered down at the unforgiving cliffs to my side.

Descending hikers encouraged me as we navigated our way around one another. They assured me that the views were worth it, that I was almost there, and I graciously smiled and continued on. And then, looking up from the placement of my hiking boots, I was there. I placed my backpack down beside me and looked around—and down. The shuttle busses looked like mice, scrambling around the canyon floor. The other hikers appeared to be mere chicken pox plaguing the canyon walls. I lost all sense of scale, of distance. I simply felt small. Almost as small as the chipmunk who snatched cashews from my bag of trail mix when I wasn’t looking. The climb, both nerve-wracking and empowering, was worth it.

All I had to do was make it back down.

Columbus Weekend in Small Town, New Hampshire

by CALVIN LORD

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hen one thinks of New Hampshire, which is seldom if at all, the quintessential image of a small town nestled into a forest at the base of a mountain may come to mind. Though this isn’t all New Hampshire has to offer, the town of Warner isn’t far off. This small town boasts around 2,000 residents and one major road with the town hall, fire department, pizza/ice cream spot, and coffee shop all within a half mile of one another. It sits idle at the base of Mt. Kearsarge, where for 362 days a year, the world runs laps around it. But for those remaining three days—Columbus Day Weekend— Warner is the epicenter of New Hampshire.

Though hotels had been sold out in the county for weeks, I was fortunate enough to find a room with a wonderful couple who happen to be my uncle and aunt. They moved into town in 2015, joining my grandparents and another uncle, who have live just off of main street for over 50 years. My other uncle has lived in town all his life, and also happens to be president of the town historical society.

“It began as a way to celebrate the beautiful foliage colors we get here in the [Kearsarge] Valley. It happens to coincide with Columbus Day weekend, and the town has found a way to rally around it,” he told me.

And rally they have. The festival attracts over ten times the local population with festival rides, ox-pulls, live music, woodworking events, and a grand parade through main street. It gives local vendors a chance to sell their goods and everyone a final chance to socialize before winter; for many this is the last event of its kind in the year, and most of the community will not find another communal event until Memorial Day. For now, they celebrate the fall.

Though the leaves that are green turn to brown, they do not depart without a final triumph of color; from that infinite palette, the oaks and maples paint a foliage masterpiece. To walk the two streets of the festival is to find yourself immersed in the small town world, where ‘kick-ass honey’ is a not a descriptor, but a one-man-brand. The smell of freshly made bison burgers mix with barbecue from different ends of the town. It’s quite an impressive festival, and certainly everyone smiles, stops and says hello as you walk down the street. The town would be mistaken for a Norman Rockwell painting should he have drawn his families like Francisco Botero.

Though the small town community can feel beautiful and welcome you in when you’re a straight, white, attractive male (who also happens to be town royalty), it’s impossible to ignore the hidden ugly side. One shop boasted t-shirts proclaiming ‘Black Flies Matter’, while another take was ‘Black Labs Matter’. Though seemingly open and friendly to all, there were certainly few people that stuck out. Outside of my girlfriend, there was only one Asian-American, and a marching band from Baltimore that provided the diversity for the weekend. It’s nice to imagine this as a perfect world, but it is not without its limits.

The walk through the booths takes an hour and a half, so our party goes apple picking in a small orchard on a hill across from Mount Kearsarge to fill the time. We’re treated to small apple cider donut holes fresh off the frying line and doused in cinnamon sugar. Our group of 8 goes through four dozen, which only cost $20. To call them spectacular would be to wildly undersell them; the soft yet gooey dough engulfs the cinnamon flavor and overwhelms the palate with deceptively simple flavors. Grandparents and kids often fight over the last one, as was the case with me and my own grandfather, who put up a pathetic front. We went back for more to bring back for other family members, who were hard at work on a parade float.

The next day, all hands were on deck as the finishing touches were put on a larger than life parade float.

However, my morning is spent driving up Mt. Kearsarge, a 3000 footer with a panoramic views of the valley that span from the New Hampshire coast down to Boston.

I prepare for the worst, only to be informed by my uncle that it’s only a half mile jaunt after you drive up from the park area.

Water bottles in tow, our party sets off into the great unknown, vastly over-prepared for what lay ahead. The trail is narrow though well paved, and we are treated to a moose sighting on our way up. The three mile drive winds around beautiful views that are only eclipsed by those obtained at the top of the mountain. From there, we hurried back down the mountain and got settled in when our help was actually needed with the parade.

The town parade is much more than the grand finale of the weekend; it is a sense of unhealthy pride and competition within the town. Residents adorn golf-carts, 18-wheeler beds, horses, and more in an attempt to compete for much lauded top prize: a big blue ribbon.

From 2010 to 2012, my hosts had taken second place in the parade after putting much thought into decorating a golf cart and marching through town. Fed up, they began enlisting out-of-town family members (Disney imagineers, structural engineers, even a craftsy ex-wife) to assist. This strategy proved fruitful as they took first in both 2013 and 2014 by a mile, besting teenagers and the elderly through sheer unhealthy will and determination. This year is for the three-peat.

This year, they’ve constructed a giant Sphinx with moveable paws trailed by a man popping out of a sarcophagus dressed as King Tut (your humble narrator), followed by a constructed pyramid, all surrounded by Egyptian goddesses and Cleopatras (my aunts, my cousin, and my girlfriend). The construct was driven by my grandfather, who wore a sign saying ‘old giza’. This is the kind of wordplay upon which Warner thrives. The streets are fully lined for over a mile into town by over 15,000 people, though it’s tough to get an exact estimate through an ill-fitting King Tut mask. Following the parade, another group who settled on the Egyptian theme stops by with their horse as we mingle on the front lawn. We dawdle about for an hour sharing stories and feeding the horses with the aforementioned apples we picked. Miss New Hampshire (who would hardly warrant a head turn in Washington Square Park would it not be for her banner) also stops by to say hello.

An hour later, the results are announced, and Goliath has completed his three-peat.

NICE, FRANCE After a long climb up Nice’s historic Coulline du Chateau (Castle Hill), you can see the city’s old town, new town, and unique rocky beaches. The hike up 300 feet of stairs is rewarded by the sweeping panaromic views of this Caribbean-esque paradise.

by PETER SLATTERY

THE MARKET

a morning in Mercado San Telmo

by DANIEL YEOM

CHORIPÁN is a popular Argentinian sandwich comprised of chorizo, bread and a sauce—this one has chimichurri. When the chorizo is cut in half like it is above, it’s called a mariposa, or butterfly.

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ummer sun pours in through the tin metal roof of Mercado San Telmo. Dust bunnies hang from florescent lightbulbs, drowsy shopkeepers doze off behind their cash registers, and vegetables begin to wilt from the heat.

Only sunburnt tourists with camouflaged hats and unnecessarily bulky DSLR’s observe the market at this hour. They’ve wandered in to find solace from the heat—a slight hint of air conditioning and a roof over their head to rescue them from overheating. The backs of their necks had begun to sting.

Hugo strolls in with greasy bedhead and a friendly smirk, the metal straw from his calabash maté cup lingering between his lips. He greets and kisses everyone on the cheek; Maru from the secondhand clothing store, Juan from the leather shop, Agus from the café. Agus helps Hugo uncage his stall, lifting up rusty metal shutters to reveal a full-functioning deli.

Hugo reluctantly puts on a crisp white apron and gets to work. Behind the counter, he dances along to a constant hum of dusty fans, slicing through chunky strips of salty panceta and pounds of musky blue cheese made from goat’s milk. He ties up links after links of dried chorizo with a string, and hangs them on a metal hook by grimy jars of pickled peppers. He pours more steaming water into his mate cup from a radioactively blue thermos. Caffeine kicks in.

Then the market jolts awake from its afternoon slumber. One by one, housewives trickle in with plastic bags full of groceries. Plump cherry tomatoes at the peak of their season, spicy verdeos with purple roots, heads of overgrown parsley and fresh pasta.

Children run and chase each other, their screeching laughter echoing through the halls of the market.

Tables at Coffee Town slowly fill up with a merienda crowd. Neighbors snack on medialunas and strong cortados as I swirl aeropressed Guatemalan coffee in a cognac snifter from the bar. “You need to smell it under your tongue,” the barista with a sleek man bun advises in broken English. I smile politely and nod.

by LAURA BURKE

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n the morning of Thursday, February 28th, I was fully immersed into the world of Bolivia for the first time. The three weeks preceeding this date were spent entirely with the group I came with, with conversations of pop culture purely in English. That Thursday morning when we all parted ways and I met my new Bolivian family, I felt alone, confused and afraid. With no Spanish background, I found those first few days at home to be some of the most frustrating.

When I opened my mouth to speak, no words came out, and I was left wondering if I would ever be able to connect to this family.

CUSCO, PERU

NACION Q’EROS, PERU

It wasn’t until I heard the familiar songs of Taylor Swift blasting from my host sister’s room that I realized that words are not the only means of communication.

Without any verbal exchange we shared music and laughed and made a connection.

My time with my homestay made me feel like a child again.

I communicated mostly with drawings and hand gestures, but found countless ways to relate with my family members. From playing with the kittens to peeling vegetables or teaching them how to make pancakes, I was able to form meaningful relationships with nonverbal communciation.

My short time in Tiquipaya taught me that actions truly do speak louder than words.

YOUNG AND TONGUE TIED IN LATIN AMERICA

A GUIDE TO

KAKI LIMAS

by DHIKA HIMAWAN

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art of Indonesian culture itself lies in the very heart of Jakarta’s streets: in between traffic jams, underneath flyover bridges and behind skyscrapers, a tantalizing smell arises from carts. Most people would call them street vendors, lined up on the streets serving traditional Indonesian food. To call them food carts, however, would not be entirely accurate. These so-called carts are called Kaki Lima or “five-feet” vendors—the four-wheeled carts are pushed around by one person, who incidentally also cooks and serves. Every food cart is unique; here are some types of Kaki Lima vendors you will see roaming around:

MARTABAK

ROTI BAKAR

This dessert is a traditional Indonesian pancake. Although Martabak is more expensive than other dishes, its portions are is also much larger.

In order to enjoy the pancake with no guilt afterwards, it’s best to not watch the vendors make it.

To put the dessert in a nutshell: the thick dough is smeared with multiple layers of margarine and topped with condensed milk and toppings of your choice.

Indonesians have their own version of grilled sandwiches. With your choice of fillings, the sandwiches can be eaten as a snack, a meal, or even as a dessert. The vendors often station themselves on the side of the streets for the day, setting up tables and chairs around the carts, completely ignoring that they’re creating obstacles for oncoming traffic. Since these tend to have more people eating around them, street performers gather around (though it’s not an obligation to give them change).

NASI GORENG GILLA Or “Crazy Fried Rice” when translated. This particular fried rice is combined with meatballs, grilled chicken and all of the spices you can think of for just under a dollar.

They are usually only seen after midnight, which makes them a great drunk food after a night out. If you’re lucky, you might just find a vendor who carries around extra plastic chairs.

SATAY

BAKSO

Satay vendors probably have the most well-equipped carts out there. It will certainly surprise you how many things can fit into a small portable cart, especially when it’s being carried around by only one person. They have a long charcoal grilling pan that can grill about a hundred satay sticks at once. They also have space to mix peanut sauce and another extension to lay out all their plates.

Watching the vendors cook is like watching a one-man show: one hand manually fanning the satay with a bamboo fan and the other mixing the sauce.

These food carts only sell traditional Indonesian meatball soup with rice noodles.

Vendors are seen pushing their wares through neighborhoods while shouting “Bakso!” and hitting a wooden stick against their cart. With these vendors, you should come out as soon as you hear their calls because they will not wait for anyone.

by

EXPLORING

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hen friends ask what my favorite part of living in China was, I often joke and say visiting Japan.

But there’s a grain of truth in every joke, right? It’s the combination of unmatched hospitality and culture which makes the Japanese perfect hosts. My eight days there began in Tokyo, where I failed to book a place to stay my first night. That left my friends and me wandering the city until we stumbled upon the Meiji Shrine just before 5 A.M., empty and serene, where monks protected by umbrellas performed their daily chores. Two days later, and 10 days after the end of the official hiking season (the best way to avoid massive crowds), my friend and I climbed Mount Fuji; the climb became a spiritual journey thanks to Ken, a man we met halfway up the mountain who was climbing it for the 65th time in five years. He bought us ramen and postcards at the end of the day, when the sun was setting on one side of the mountain and the largest moon of the year was rising on the other. Two more days and a few high-speed trains full of beer-drinking businessmen after that, we were riding bicycles through Kyoto, a city packed with more temples and shrines than you could ever hope for. We then made a pit-stop in Osaka for a healthy serving of street food before ending our trip on Naoshima, a secluded island off Japan’s southern coast, dedicated entirely to contemporary art. To enjoy Japan, you need nothing more than a train pass, a healthy appetite, and a fondness for getting lost. Someone will always point you in the right direction.

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TOKYO, JAPAN The Japanese are masters of efficiency.

The chaos of its cities is tamed by attendants that shuffle the crowds and trains that are never late. Standing among the crowd, you might get a sense of all the movements that flow through this impressive system.

by MICHAEL DeLUCA

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visit to Korea often means a visit to Seoul, a bustling city with historical monuments, food, fashion, dazzling nightscapes and a collection of people from all over the peninsula who have come for a piece of Seoul’s prosperity. With a population surpassing even that of New York City, there is a familiar sense of rush. Cars don’t stop for pedestrians, subway doors shut with a mocking hiss and people elbow past you, gone before you can turn around.

Despite the people everywhere, there is little interaction as people look at their smartphones in rattling subway trains thanks to Korea’s famous technological advancements. Such speed is what caused the ‘Miracle on the Han River’—the move from poverty at the end of the Korean War to astounding prosperity in the span of just over fifty years. That river flows like a vein through the city; Seoul is the heart of Korea and this heart beats quickly.

But if the heart lies in Seoul, where does the rest of the country fit? At the bottom peninsula is the second biggest city: Busan. With a third of the population of Seoul, Busan is not quite as hectic and its famous beaches are worth visiting. If Seoul is the heart, Busan is the lungs of Korea, blowing air for the ships that set off from its docks. It’s a refreshing breeze for travellers who want a change from the dizzying pace of Seoul.

The beaches in Busan, especially the famous Haeundae Beach, have many festivals throughout the year. Busan is also the city of film, known for the Busan International Film Festival and a movie street close to Haeundae Beach dotted with wall murals and trick art. Busan is full of young backpackers and college students who can be found on the sand, drinking as night falls.The beaches are lovely, though admittedly often crowded. Other areas, like Dongbaekseom Island, bring you back to nature .

Dongbaekseom Island is in view of Haeundae beach, but feels far removed from the bikini-clad throngs of vacationers. You can walk along trails winding through thick trees, spot a lonely lighthouse, watch the waves crash onto ragged rocks and onto a statue of a mermaid that forever faces the sea in longing. There’s something beautiful about the silence of the forest, the salt in the air, the dewcovered spider webs on the wooden walkways.

Busan’s real charm rests in Jagalchi, Korea’s biggest fish market. On the docks are rusting boats, bobbing along to the sea’s rhythm. Older women in baggy, colorful work clothes and rubber gloves on their saltwrinkled hands call out to passersby trying to tempt them into a purchase with skill that has come from decades of experience.

Stepping into Jagalchi is to travel to a different world—the streets are stained with seawater and fish guts.

Natives of Busan, especially elders, speak a dialect that is often disorienting for native Korean speakers: it adds bluntness to their voice, a different rhythm, and an increased volume. Yet the way they shout to confused tourists is strangely appealing. Their sense of “jeong,” a Korean concept of kindess between strangers, is the source of their hospitality. It is in the way they stop to explain each type of fried fish, the way they urge you to have some broth with the famous Busan fish cakes, the extra item they’ll throw in with your purchase.

Visiting Seoul is a must. It is unlikely you would ever visit Korea without venturing to its capital, but remember that Busan awaits. Feel alive in Seoul, but breathe in Busan.

breathe in busan south korea //

by SU YOUNG LEE

O

n several occasions while walking through a new museum, I got the sensation that I was somewhere I shouldn’t be.

This first struck me while exploring the Power Station of Art (PSA), a former power plant turned into the Pavilion of Future during the 2010 Shanghai World Expo before taking on its current form as the self-proclaimed “first state-run museum dedicated to contemporary art in mainland China.” It sounds contradictory, but curators are confident that that they can operate sans government interference.

I visited PSA on a weekday; with that in mind, I was still startled by the emptiness of the museum and its surroundings. After entering the building, I asked some people waiting inside if the museum was open.

They weren’t sure, but I found the ticket window and began my journey through the exhibitions that I could find. Finding them proved a difficult task; I left unsatisfied and confused.

This happened several times while getting to know the artistic landscape of Shanghai. I also journeyed to the West Bund Cultural Corridor, a strip of museums including the recently opened Art and Design Center, Shanghai Center of Photography (SCoP), YUZ Museum, and Shanghai’s second Long Museum (the other resides in Pudong, across the Huangpu River that splits Shanghai).

Exiting the metro station nearby, I found a mess of construction sites.

When finally en route to the museums, I thought about how the Shanghai’s art scene has the capacity and means for success, but hasn’t experienced the gaffes.

Upon reaching the museums, I was impressed. Intermingled with permanent collections owned by

by MICHAEL DeLUCA

a fledging art scene the museum’s founders, the YUZ Museum is hosting the Rain Room (2012). The Long Museum has been home to 15 Rooms, a “liveart exhibition” consisting of 15 unique rooms, each the creation of a different artist. Among the 15 artists featured are names like Marina Abramović and Cao Fei. Both exhibitions were curated by Klaus Biesenbach (Director of MoMA PS1 and Chief Curator at Large at MoMA) and Hans Ulrich Obrist (codirector of the Serpentine Gallery), cementing Shanghai as a contender in the art world.

SCoP’s ongoing exhibition, Grain to Pixel: A Story of Photography in China, examines the evolution of photography in China from the early 1900s to now. The broad scope of this exhibition highlights that SCoP lacks a permanent collection. Its inaugural exhibition in May of this year was titled Photography from the 20th Century: The Private Collection of Jin Hongwei and included classic photographers like Dorothea Lange and Ansel Adams to contemporary names like Robert Mapplethorpe and Sally Mann. Because it depended on a private collection, there was little Chinese photography to be found.

Grain to Pixel, SCoP’s second exhibition, serves as a refreshing homage to a history of Chinese photography.

Of course, much of the art world takes place outside of museums than inside them. This is also true in Shanghai. The hidden charms of the city’s emerging art landscape can be found in areas like M50, a contemporary art district far from the Cultural Corridor and full of young creatives.

Stop in UNDEF/NE for one of Shanghai’s best coffees and a look at their current display before exploring the rest of M50’s galleries. For those

with spare time, the spaces should be enjoyed on weekdays, away from Shanghai’s infamous weekend throngs.

The Vanguard and ShanghART galleries should not be missed on a trip to the area. Both maintain a focus on emerging Chinese artists, pushing boundaries in terms of media and content by every standard. Areas like M50 represent the future of Shanghai and Chinese art. Its galleries embrace a wide range of media and put a strong emphasis on young artists.

Here, and in other artistic enclaves popping up throughout Shanghai, I felt I was watching the tide of free expression and creativity swelling above censorship, tradition, and constraint.

The rapid development of Shanghai’s art landscape, often taking place in undeveloped areas, creates challenges. For non-locals unfamiliar Shanghai’s layout, this means more time finding the museum than appreciating its art. The construction sites that neighbor new museums reveal Shanghai’s most valuable asset: its potential. There’s room for growth, in terms of a capacity to accept art that challenges longstanding traditions.

Walking along in Shanghai, you will see government-sponsored posters promoting patriotism, rule of law, and hard work. But on my way out of M50, as the sun was setting on a cool autumn evening, M50’s walls offered a sight rarely seen in Shanghai: graffiti. It was tasteful, substantive, and contrasted the propaganda that too often takes up the city’s public spaces. Such unprompted and unsolicited works of art send a radical message. More than anything else, signs of free expression and spontaneity like these evoke a sense of optimism for the future of Shanghai’s creativity.

ART AMONG THE SANDS OF KUWAIT

by YASMENA AL MULLA

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alking through the hot, deserted desert, the last thing you would think of encountering is an art scene. As you pull up into the driveway in front of a contemporary white platform, nowhere are there camels walking around or oil pouring out of the ground. On the contrary, there is a line of cars waiting for their turn for valet service. Opening nights for an art exhibition are amongst the busiest for the streets of Kuwait. People get glammed up from their hair to their high heels.

The art scene in Kuwait has been growing rapidly in the last few years. Young Kuwaitis have been able to show their more artistic side rather than having art as a second job after a long day in a cubicle at a bank. There has been an emergence of multiple “art weeks� which aim to have events throughout the week. One of the more known and accomplished projects has been Nuqat. Nuqat is a platform to encourage and educate the Arab society about different aspects of art from art education to displaying art by local and young artists. Founded in 2009, Nuqat occurs yearly with different speakers and topics each year. Throughout the years Nuqat has swelled in numbers in addition to its impact, which people have seen this year especially since it has moved from be-

ing a once a year conference to year-round activate platform. Speakers come from all over the world to talk about various aspects from curating and art investment to the art of comics and architecture.

Conferences and platforms like Nuqat has allowed the Kuwaiti people to appreciate art as well as pursue it as more than just a hobby.

Thanks to galleries like the contemporary art platform, Dar Al Funoon and the Sultan Gallery, people now have a place to exhibit their work as well as interact with people that share the same passion for art. The galleries tend to be big spaces with a traditional Arab exterior; mud buildings surrounded by palm trees, but with a modern feel on the inside.

When you pull up to the sand parking lot of the Dar Al Funoon gallery, you walk towards the 1940 building only to find out that the inside has white floors with white walls that are decorated with the latest work of famous Arab artists like Hamza Banouna and Abdullah Al Awadhi.

The people of Kuwait have been trying to fight the misconception that art is dead in the Middle East and it has been vastly evident in recent years. There is still so much more the small gulf country can do, but its voice has been getting louder which hopefully will reach across the Atlantic one day.

by SHERVIN ABDOLHAMIDI

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estled under the glare of the blazing sun amid the searing sands of two of the worlds most forbidding and treacherous deserts lays an ancient city that defies the harsh elements of its surroundings. The city of Yazd is situated at the meeting point of the Dasht-e Kavir and Kavir Loot deserts and therefore is home to some of the most extreme and uninhabitable environments in the world.

The arid, salt-laden landscape and dry, rainless climate make the region scant of any life forms. And yet, it is here, at the epicenter of these two notorious deserts, under these adverse circumstances that the remarkable city of Yazd has existed for more than three millenniums.

Yazd is the driest city in Iran, with an average annual rainfall of only 60 millimeters. It is also the hottest city north of the Persian Gulf, with summer temperatures constantly surpassing forty degrees Celsius. Furthermore, the diurnal temperature variation, spawned by the barrenness of the desert, sends nighttime

temperatures plunging into uncomfortably low numbers. Despite the cruel and unforgiving climatic conditions, the indigenous people of Yazd have long since learned to cope with their environment with well-versed, innovative architecture and cunning.

In order to abate the lacking water supply the Persians pioneered an ingenious water distribution system called qanat, a water management system that is used to provide a reliable source of fresh water for human settlements and irrigation in hot and barren regions. Yazd is home to some of the largest and most advanced networks of qanats in the world.

Qanats consist of a series of vertical well-like shafts connected by underground tunnels which are excavated at an incline, thus utilizing the force of gravity to guide the water from foothill water tables towards settlements. These manmade subterranean rivers, stretching as long as 70 km, with shafts as deep

as 275 meters, are phenomenal feats of engineering and labor that provided nourishment to an otherwise uninhabitable environment.

The advent of qanats originates from Iran. They were invented during the early first millennium B.C. and used ubiquitously throughout the peninsula. The city of Yazd has an an extremely well connected network of qanats—one of the best in the world—alongside with arguably the best qanat workers too.

In addition to the arduous task of water supplication, the people of the region also had to contend with the relentlessly scorching heat and blazing temperatures of their domicile. Shelters and houses had to be built in a manner that would mitigate the detrimental effects of the climate. The resultant architecture is very unique and is oriented to be consistent with the climatic features of the region. The predominant building material used in not only the architecture of Yazd, but in all traditional Persian

residential architecture is adobe. Adobe is a natural building material composed of water, sand, clay, and some form of organic material, which can be molded into bricks and dried in the sun. Durability, prevalence and insulation are some of the trademarks of this building material, making it ubiquitous in regions with hot climates.

The adobe buildings of the city are densely built around the water reservoirs, with high walls and ceilings that maximize shade at ground level. Lighting is provided by small domical glass panels that are placed on the roof and illuminate the interior without letting in direct sunlight. Collectively, the intricate and homogenous architecture of the city is wholly congruous with its surrounding environment.

Whilst the unique ancient thread of the city is quite spectacular, it is the wind catchers of Yazd that are the hallmarks of the cities marvelous architecture.

A wind catcher is yet another ancient Persian invention which is integrated in ancient Persian architecture and constructed to generate natural ventilation in buildings. These structures were profusely common in central Iranian cities, namely Yazd, Kashan, Sirjan, and Bam, where diurnal temperature variation and arid climate were constantly in mind.

These marvels of engineering could negate interior temperatures to a pleasant degree that was suitable for living conditions. Such were the effectiveness of wind catchers that they were used as refrigerating devices that contributed to the preservation of perishable food and supplies. Wind catchers function in three ways: downward airflow using direct wind entry, which relies on the high rate of airflow to provide cooling effect; upward airflow using a wind-assisted temperature gradient, which are used in combination with the cool water of qanats to cool the warm outside air; and upward airflow with a solar-assisted temperature gradient, which generates a pressure gradient that allows less dense hot air to exit and be replaced by the denser cool air.

FESTIVAL GUIDE FOR THE EUROPEAN BACKPACKER

by EMILY ALBERT

E LAS FALLAS Valencia, Spain

FESTA DE SÃO JOÃO Porto, Portugal

very March, the unassuming beach town of Valencia converts to an openair museum, with instillations of massive wooden monuments littered around the winding cobblestone roads. Las Fallas is a traditional celebration, where locals will spend hours every year watching the building of these monuments in awe. To kick off the festivities, there is a massive “firework” show. Then, the entire town lights up as locals take to the streets and bars to drink and dance through the night as the thirty-foot monuments burn to the ground in commemoration of Saint Joseph.

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little-known street party in the birthplace of port wine, the Festival of John the Baptist is a love-themed festa of extravagant feasts and dance parties in the streets. This quasi-religious, quasi-summer solstice party held the 23rd of June is truly a hidden gem, though an odd one, as partiers participate in the ancient pagan courting ritual of beating loved ones with plastic hammers, garlic, and leeks. Port wine, barbeques, vendors, live stages, beachside bonfires, fireworks, flame-propelled lanterns in the night sky, and dancing ‘til the dawn all contribute to an air of lust and love.

T IL PALIO Siena, Italy

FÊTE DE VENDANGES Neuchâtel, Switzerland

GUY FAWKE’S DAY Lewes, England

his Italian sporting event comes every July as homage to Madonna of Provenzano. The medieval Tuscan town comes alive in preparation for its annual violent horse races, so there is plenty of opportunity to eat, drink, and interact with enthusiastic locals. The official race can get crowded, so find a balcony to watch from during the trials in the days leading up to the main event. The night before, indulge in a Contrada dinner—a pricey but worthwhile six-course, open-air meal eaten in the company of the competing jockeys and their supporters.

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he annual vendanges, or harvest, is cause for celebration in Switzerland’s French-speaking wine country. Traditionally, this September vacation was meant for children to take off school and help their families with the harvest, but today it marks a good party for the town of Neuchâtel. The small city’s 30,000 residents will be accompanied by another 30,000 visitors every year, as the streets fill with wine and food vendors, lakeside raves, and rollercoaster rides. Be prepared for two consecutive sleepless nights if you’re to do it like the locals—children, parents and grandparents included.

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et another fire frenzy, Lewes’s version of Guy Fawke’s Day occurs on the 5th of November. Taking to the streets with fire of all forms and bagpipes to boot, Britons remember a serendipitously foiled plot to assassinate King James I. The official Bonfire Societies each have their own start point— usually a pub—and their own striped garb and parade routes. Some society members will even wear the traditional smugglers costume, a get-up of white pants, red hats, and tall boots. Get ready for a night of sparklers, second-hand smoke, and good old pub-crawling fun.

Iceland Airwaves story by LILY MCMAHON // photos by JENNA ELLIS

WHAT IS MORE FASCINATING THAN AN ISLAND? Fiercely independent, comically dreary and harmlessly alternative, Iceland embodies all the intrigues of geographic and cultural isolation. Leave the world you know, and strange things will happen. Strange, wonderful things. This is the story of the week I cut ties with the real world, and unwittingly attended an alternative Icelandic music festival.

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embarked on this journey with my friend Nicole. Having joyously determined not to pay for beds on our first night, we ended up camping out in the hostel lobby. Keflavík International Airport’s hardwood floors were entirely desolate, and because it seemed to lack security, it felt too much like a scene from a Scandinavian horror film. After taking out twenty thousand Icelandic krona at the dimly lit ATM, we chose to take the hostel bound shuttle. Once there, a languid Swiss man, with a chignon and black chipped nail varnish, allowed us to store our things and sleep on one of the many shabby chic couches.

The Hlemmur Square hostel not only has staff who are merciful to the needs of a cheap college student, but is also quite ideally situated on Reykjavik’s (only) street. To me, a native San Franciscan, Reykjavik is a street. To a New Yorker? It’s a glacier.

Amusingly, Nicole and I originally intended to stay in Reykjavik for three nights, and then to take the bus to the only place we could pronounce on the map, a town called Vík í Myrdal. When a local laughed at us and told us that the “town” consisted of a gas station, we decided to stay. After all, we would need at least one Thai restaurant to accommodate our gluten-free vegan needs—quite unfamiliar words in the region.

Within the next few days, music started to fill the streets.

First came the simple melody of other human voices. Our hostel grew populated, a mini ecosystem of the curious and the devoted.

JÖKULSÁRLÓN, a glacial lake located in southeast Iceland, is the result of the melting Breiðamerkurjökull glacier.

Then came the performances. For the next three days, we found ourselves sipping Swiss mochas and weaving in and out of cafes, hostels and bars, listening to whatever off-venue performances struck our fancy. My first experience with the quirky musical genre was For a Minor Reflection, a group of ghostly pale men with Cleopatra esq. bobs, breathing faunal echoes into the microphones. I wish I could say that I got it the way the mini cult of closed-eyed, nodding heads seemed too intimate, but regardless, it was undoubtedly an experience. The festival culminated in a performance by FM Belfast, an Icelandic indie rock band with a large following. Dancing with our new found hostel family, which included Icelandic cheese makers, professional glacier trekkers, Belgian guitar makers, Faroese businessmen and free spirited Australians, we laughed and shared our stories with the effervescent music in the background.

Although Iceland is a representation of the earth’s elements in their rawest forms, an amalgam of earth, wind, fire and ice, perhaps the real lesson of the land isn’t purity of origin. An island may offer some picturesque vision of earth untouched, but moreover, an island provides the gift of divergence from the ordinary. It’s the salty film of black licorice, the strangers who became my family for the week, the discordant beat of an alternative music festival that provided me with a unique sense of connection to the unpredictable. Not to mention some inspiration for my newest playlist.

DYRHÓLAEY; a small lighthouse rests atop Iceland’s southern most cape.

REYKJAVÍK, shot from the top of the Hallgrimskirkja church.

SELJALANDSFOSS WATERFALL

SÓLHEIMASANDUR, ICELAND A famous plane crash in Iceland, this U.S. Navy aircraft is located on the southern coast of the island. If you time it right, you can even catch the Northern Lights above the plane and the Sólheimasandur black sand beach.

by JENNA ELLIS

R R R E E V T O P E U O T Q S N I C IN story

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by S

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f you’re looking for a quiet relaxing place to spend the weekend in Italy, Cinque Terre is a perfect destination. Cinque Terre is one of those fantastic places where you can easily spend a week or more if you have the time or that you can get to know in just two days. Most people think of Cinque Terre as just one city, but it’s important to note that it is comprised of a cluster of small villages on the coast of the Italian Riviera. The five villages are Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. All five are worth getting to know intimately but thanks to their proximity, they can be discovered on a short getaway.

DAY ONE:

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heck in to your hostel and make yourself at home. We opted to stay in Corniglia since it is the middle village, a central point from which to go off and explore the rest of Cinque. However, in order to get to Corniglia, which is located on a high cliff, you need to climb up the 365 stairs leading from the train station to the main road. The stairs provide beautiful views of the sea surrounding the village and have the added benefit of burning all the calories you’ll eat during your stay, but if climbing a whole year’s worth of stairs isn’t your idea of fun, consider staying elsewhere.

Once you’ve settled in, take some time to walk around Corniglia and discover the quaintness of this little town. The great thing about Cinque and most of its villages is that unlike other places in Italy, there aren’t handfuls of museums or cathedrals that you have to explore in order to feel like

you’ve actually experienced the essence of the villages. The point of Cinque is really just to relax and appreciate the local wine and gorgeous views.

So walk around Corniglia, snap a few photos and enjoy.

After winding your way up the stairs and walking through the village you’re sure to work up an appetite. Grab a seafood lunch—it is likely to be cheap and delicious just about everywhere you go but I recommend La Posada, a little outdoor restaurant shaded by luscious olive trees with a stunning view of the ocean. Get the mouthwatering seafood risotto, a steal at only 12 euro.

To work off that lunch, make your way to one of the many hiking trails that Cinque is known for.

You have to pay to hike the trails, but you can purchase a Cinque Terre Card at a train station or on the trails themselves. The card gives you unlimited

access to the trails and all of the local trains until midnight (and it only costs 12 euro).

The most traveled network of pathways is known as Trail #2, or Sentiero Azzuro. It connects all five villages and provides trails of varying difficulty. Being novice hikers, my friend and I chose to hike the trail between Corniglia and Manarola to ease us into the adventure. The trail is relatively easy and offers a nice path through beautiful gardens with some dreamy sea views. It should take you about an hour and 15 minutes.

Once in Manarola, reward yourself with some delicious gelato. Enjoy the views by walking uphill or downhill—either way, you’ll capture some of those famous pictures of the little pastel colored

homes that Cinque is known for. If you’re feeling antsy about not having any monuments to visit, go to San Lorenzo Church, a little church built in a simple Gothic style offering a respite from the lavish churches you can find throughout Italy. Be sure to check out the harbor as it looks like something out of a fairytale. You can add more to the magic by going close to sunset and watching the sun sink into the ocean.

Before you make your way back to Corniglia, get dinner at one of the restaurants in Manarola.

There are many to choose from, all with local products offering classic Italian dishes as well as fresh seafood options.

DAY TWO:

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ake up early and eat a focaccia breakfast.

Cinque is known for its savory focaccia and there are many options to choose from including olive and tomato, mushroom, and pesto. Once you’ve loaded up on your daily dose of carbs, continue your day with yet another beautiful hike.

We chose walk the trail from Corniglia to Vernazza, a moderate hike that lasted about 2 hours. This path is a little bit more challenging but the clear views of the coast are more than worth it.

Once you get to Vernazza, walk down to the harbor. You can eat lunch at one of the many restaurants on the water or you can get a sandwich and some gelato to have a picnic on the rocks.

When you’ve re-energized you can do a quick tour of Church of Santa Margherita d’Antiochia, which is located right on the harbor. You can also make the steep trek up to the Doria Castel Tower, originally built in the 11th century to protect the village from pirates that now serves as a picturesque look out point. While it’s easy to spend all day in Ver-

nazza, make sure to leave some time to check out Monterosso al Mare and Riomaggiore.

Monterosso is the biggest of the five villages and also has the largest beach. Bring your swimsuit along or buy one at one of the many little shops lining the beach and take a dip in the water.

When you’ve had your fill of sand, walk through the streets. This village is a typical beach town but, despite being the largest, is still full of charm.

Finally, make your way to the last village on the list: Riomaggiore. You can take advantage of your Cinque Terre Card and take the 15-minute train there or you can mix things up and take a ferry.

Once there, you can buy a cone of fried mixed seafood (yummy and cheap) or shell out a little more money and get a delicious Italian meal at one of the many enotecas. Finish your night by going to a bar and having a drink; I recommend one of the local wines as all the villages have their own vineyards. Get one final slice of focaccia for the road.

photo by SCOTT MULLEN

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s ’ r o t i Ed s k c i P

by STEPHANIE PAN

MYKONOS, GREECE

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

by PETER SLATTERY

Each issue we are left with photographs that are just too noteworthy to lose.

From a long weekend in Chicago, Illinois to a trek through Europe wth a film camera in tow, here are some of our top photo picks.

NICE, FRANCE

BAEDEKER is the student travel magazine of NYU. All rights reserved. Š 2015