Jan

New Year’s Travel Inspiration

by Meredith Mullins on January 9, 2017

Paul Salopek in eastern Turkey (2014), nearly two years into his walk around the world
© John Stanmeyer/National Geographic Creative

The Out of Eden Walk Around the World

If I had made New Year’s resolutions, “walking around the world” probably would not have been on the list.

A get-off-the-couch, 10,000 steps a day? Maybe. 10 million steps? Not a chance. That would be travel inspiration of the monumental kind.

The 10 million number is not random. Ten million steps is an important milestone for Pulitzer Prize winning journalist Paul Salopek.

Why? He is walking around the world.

And he just reached the ten millionth step of his 21,000-mile journey. Millions more steps will follow.

In January 2013, Salopek began at the beginning—The Great Rift Valley in Ethiopia—one of the
world’s oldest human fossil sites.
© AL-Travelpicture/iStock.)

Out of Eden

I have followed Salopek since he began this ambitious odyssey in January 2013. For me, an adventure lover, the idea of a walk around the world was as mesmerizing as it was wild and crazy.

His “Out of Eden” project, sponsored by National Geographic, follows the path of the first humans as they migrated out of Africa during the Stone Age to begin their exploration of the planet.

World map with Out of Eden route marked for travel inspiration a la Paul Salopek. (Image © Chrupka/iStock.)

The proposed route mirrors how the first humans migrated out of Africa.
© Chrupka/iStock

It took them 40,000 to 60,000 years to make the journey— from Africa, across the Middle East and Asia, and finally to North and South America.

Gulf of Tadjourah view in Djibouti, travel inspiration for Paul Salopek and the Out of Eden Walk. (Image © VUSLimited/iStock.)

Salopek’s African journey took him from Ethiopia to the Gulf of Tadjourah in Djibouti and a boat
(full of sheep and camels) to Saudi Arabia.
© VUSLimited/iStock

Salopek’s journey will be shorter—a mere 7- to 11-year commitment. The original projection was seven years; but now, in his fourth year, he knows that plan was overly optimistic.

I’m way behind schedule and thankful for it . . . I’m having the time of my life.—Paul Salopek

Slow Journalism

What inspired this expedition?

Salopek believes that if we slow down and observe carefully, we can rediscover our world. He calls it an experiment in slowness.

Slowing down doesn’t dull the world. It makes it sharper. It makes it crisper. That’s what walking does.—Paul Salopek

He explains that he is simply moving from story to story. It just so happens that his feet are what gets him there.

Feet in Ethiopia, part of the travel inspiration of Paul Salopek for the Out of Eden Walk. (Image © rweisswald/iStock.)

When talking about a walk of 21,000 miles, feet become a topic of conversation. Most of the desert dwellers wear plastic or rubber. Salopek wears Merrell hiking shoes. Each pair lasts about 1000 miles.
© rweisswald/iStock

This walk is not about setting records or walking a certain number of steps a day, he explains. It’s strictly about storytelling.

The stories are about the people he meets, the changes he observes, and what it is to be human.

Walking is addictive, in a positive sense . . . It forces you to engage with people. You can’t ignore them. You have to say hello.—Paul Salopek

He interviews and photographs the strangers he meets (with a “Milestone” story every 100 miles, in addition to his frequent dispatches.)

He observes and records changes, such as camel grooves becoming oil pipelines and The Silk Road moving from a trade route for silk and spices to a route for oil and gas.

Hasankeyf, Turkey, and ancient town that provides travel inspiration to Paul Salopek on his Out of Eden walk. (Image © Asafta/iStock.)

Salopek sees past and future changes. Sections of the ancient town of Hasankeyf, Turkey will be inundated when a new dam is built. Layers of civilizations will be erased.
© Asafta/iStock

He writes often about the hospitality of strangers—sharing the last of their water, alerting him to the challenges of the terrain, or helping him to find the perfect camel.

Although he sometimes walks alone, he is most often with local guides, translators, or his trusty pack animals. Many of his guides have become good friends. (And, yes, mules and camels can be BFFs too.)

Camels in the desert, travel inspiration for Paul Salopek on the Out of Eden Walk. (Image © Meredith Mullins.)

A walk around the world is never lonely when there’s a good camel by your side.
© Meredith Mullins

Occasionally, he is joined by National Geographic photographer John Stanmeyer, whose stunning photographs add a unique perspective to the continuing saga.

In the virtual space of the internet, his footsteps are followed by thousands of people around the globe—well wishers, students, educational partners, and fellow adventurers who want to see, as Salopek does, what the far reaches of the globe are like.

We should be relieved to find out that Salopek’s view (so far) is that “the world is, by and large, a hospitable place.”

Evening view of Jerusalem, Israel, travel inspiration for Paul Salopek on his Out of Eden walk. (Image © Silverjohn/iStock.)

The path along the Red Sea included Saudi Arabia, Jordan,
the West Bank, and Israel. (Jerusalem is pictured here.)
© Silverjohn/iStock

Paradise Lost?

As he contemplates his journey, he imagines the world’s first walkers. They had no maps, he notes in his walking journal. They had no pre-planned routes.

In fact, he concludes, “they had no destinations because the very concept of ‘destination’ had yet to be invented.” This leads to his final conclusion: “These pioneers were, by definition, never lost.”

Hunter walking on a mountain, another traveler seeking travel inspiration along with Paul Salopek of the Out of Eden walk. (Image © Oner Enarih.)

You may think you’re the only traveler in the remote mountains of Kyrgyzstan, but there is always
life in the distance. Here, a hunter walks on a secluded hillside.
© Oner Enarih/iStock

You can tell he wants to walk as if he is one of these first pioneers . . . to feel never lost.

But we live in a mapped world. There are destinations, borders, and GPS coordinates. It is possible to be lost.

The good news, Salopek says, is that getting lost can be a positive thing—it wakes you up.

You stand a little straighter. Your eyes and pores open. You become more alert. You study the world carefully, scanning the horizon for landmarks, signs, clues — for a way forward.

But ultimately, you become alive to possibility: a new compass bearing, a new story, a trail untaken.—Paul Salopek

A Map for Adventure

Salopek’s route is fluid. There are challenges. He is influenced by which countries will grant him visas. He also listens to his inner survivor and tries to avoid places in conflict.

He has logged nearly 5000 miles in his first three years, from the Rift Valley of Africa to Saudi Arabia and a path following the Red Sea through the holy lands, to Cyprus and Eastern Turkey, to a trek across Georgia into the Stans.

Registan Square in Samarkand, Uzbekistan, travel inspiration for Paul Salopek on his Out of Eden Walk. (Image © Ozbalci/iStock.)

The journey interweaves brutal deserts, endless mountains, and historic cities, such as Samarkand, Uzbekistan, one of the major stops on The Silk Road trade route.
© Ozbalci/iStock

He is currently wintering in Kyrgyzstan before he tackles the Tian Shen mountains into China and the Taklamakan Desert (also known as the desert of no return). He will eventually make it to North America and walk south to the southernmost tip of South America.

Mountain peaks of the Tien Shan, Kyrgyzstan. (Image © Oner Enarih/iStock.)

After Salopek’s winter in Kyrgyzstan, the Tien Shan mountains await.
© Oner Enarih/iStock

Oh, I See: New Year’s Resolutions

No, I will not add walking the world to my New Year’s resolutions. But the travel inspiration that Salopek provides and his Out of Eden words and images will find their way into my core. There are many “Oh, I See” moments in his stories.

And so, if I had made New Year’s resolutions, they might have looked something like this.

I will slow down to really see.
I will look for the best in humanity.
I will seek the trail untaken.
I will live new stories.

These are resolutions worth keeping. Thank you, Mr. Salopek.

You can follow the Out of Eden story here. See more of John Stanmeyer’s photography here or in the OIC story about his World Press Photo Award. Join the Out of Eden Facebook page here.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Meredith Mullins 2 Comments

Adventure Travel/On Foot/Worldwide Sites

Jan

An Idiom Abroad

by Joyce McGreevy on January 3, 2017

The statue of the Duke of Wellington in Glasgow shows that Scotland's fashions go beyond the wordplay of clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Trafficking in high fashion, Glasgow style.
The Duke of Wellington monument at the Gallery of Modern Art.
© Joyce McGreevy

A Wordplay Stitch in Time

Sew, a funny thing happened on the way to a textile exhibition. One morning in Glasgow, I stopped at a café to write. The assignment: draft a column about the wordplay of clothing idioms.

I’m no smarty pants, but I hoped to leave readers in stitches so I put on my thinking cap, booted up my laptop, and buckled down to work. As cellphone users aired their dirty linen in public, I felt hampered and wished they would put a sock in it.

Then the barista buttonholed me with a shirty question.

“Wherever do you writers get your material?” he asked starchly.

His remark needled me, but surely I could pin down a sharp reply. A stitch in time saves nine, but darn it, the next ten minutes unraveled as I hemmed and hawed.

Awkward silence cloaked the café. You could have heard a pin drop.

A 17th century glove from Glasgow's Burrell Collection inspires off-the-cuff wordplay and other clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

The gloves were off. I grasped for an off-the-cuff remark.
A 17th century glove, Burrell Collection, Glasgow.
© Joyce McGreevy

The Truth Can Be Crewel

The truth is, we writers fly by the seat of our pants, sometimes crafting stories from whole cloth, sometimes hanging on by a thread. We spin a good yarn, yet often feel as if we’re pulling the wool over our own eyes.

I considered embroidering the truth, as if I always had a trick up my sleeve. But my tongue was tied, so I zipped my lip. I was skirting the issue, and in Scotland one can get kilt for such things.

Seeing that I hadn’t a notion, my questioner dropped the topic like a missed stitch. Hat in hand, I weaved uncertainly into the fog that blanketed the city of Glasgow.

A Queen's Park street in Glasgow leads to a textile exhibition that inspires the wordplay of clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Before me loomed a patchwork of city streets. I knitted my brow, feeling crotchety.
© Joyce McGreevy

Haberdasher-ing Down the Road

The road unspooled before me, shimmering in patches, as veils of cloud cover gradually lifted. With a few quid burning a hole in my pocket, I threaded my way through Pollok Country Park. There I saw people surging toward the museum that housed the Burrell Collection.

The Hornby Portico in Glasgow leads to a textile exhibition, a visual reminder of clothing idioms' wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A coat of arms crowns the site of strategic textile maneuvers.
The Hornby Portico, 16th century, Glasgow.
© Joyce McGreevy

As a traveler on a shoestring budget, I seek out pockets of inspiration that won’t cost the shirt off my back. Like museums, where I feel as comfortable as an old shoe.

So in I darted.

There it was—a textile exhibition perfectly tailored to the situation: Gilt and Silk: Early 17^th Century Costume.

Oh, I see: This was truly a stitch in time.

A 17th century petticoat at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland reminds us that a stitch in time is more than wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

How do you order remnants of chronological events? In sequins, of course.
Detail from a 17th century petticoat, Burrell Collection.
© Joyce McGreevy

Material Witness

I realize textile exhibitions bore the pants off some people. But I grew up in a close-knit family where a head for style went hand in glove with an eye for art. We’ve always cottoned to costume displays and would go at the drop of a hat.

Turns out it was final curtain for the Burrell Collection. The museum was about to bolt its doors until 2020, allowing renovators to roll up their sleeves and gussy up the place.

In other words, this textile exhibition was no dress rehearsal.

Silver and gold embroidery at a textile exhibition in Glasgow reflect the gilt-y pleasures of wordplay and clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Taking a shine to silver and gold threads made me feel gilt-y.
© Joyce McGreevy

Cloth Encounters

Intent on bobbin’ my head at as many items as possible, I zigzagged from display to display.

Some of the clothing knocked my socks off.

Like a woman’s waistcoat made of linen and polychrome silk. The snug little bodice brought new meaning to tightening one’s belt. Ah, but those silver-gilt threads in a pattern of flowers and foliage had me wearing my heart on my sleeve.

A 17th century noblewoman's waistcoat at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland threads the needle between clothing idioms' wordplay and their source. (Image @ Joyce McGreevy)

Wealthy noblewomen had a vested interest in waistcoats.
A 17th century waistcoat, Burrell Collection.
© Joyce McGreevy

Satin’s Handiwork

Some items left me hot under the collar. Like the outfit worn by the little boy in this painting.

A medieval ruff, as depicted in a painting in Glasgow, Scotland, inspires the wordplay of clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Seems like ruff circumstances for a little kid.
Detail from a painting by unknown artist, Burrell Collection.
© Joyce McGreevy

I guess M’Lord Senior was a stuffed shirt. And M’Lady had a bee in her bonnet about handling play-clothes with kid gloves.

Meanwhile, another area was bursting at the seams.

Museum-goers had fanned out around the highlight of the show—a crimson silk satin petticoat. You can bet your boots that showcasing this extremely rare article was a feather in the cap of the museum’s director.

Thus did the hours unfold. I stared at historical fashion like it was going out of style.

A 17th century textile exhibition in Glasgow provides rich material for clothing idioms and wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Nothing’s petty about a 17th century petticoat. The layered look was big back then.
© Joyce McGreevy

Nothing Old Hat Under the Sun

Finally, it was time to throw in the towel. With a new experience under my belt, I felt once again ready to toss my hat into the ring. (As a freelancer, I wear many hats in order to line my pockets while pulling myself up by my own bootstraps, as I refuse to ride another’s coattails.)

So I returned to work and tied up a few loose ends.

A 17th century cap at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland is "a tip of the hat" to clothing idioms and wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Hat trick: This embroidered cloth became a close-fitting cap.
© Joyce McGreevy

True, I still hadn’t answered the question of where writers get their material. Not every mystery can be sewn up in a neat little package.

But by following a stitch in time at the textile exhibition and collaring a few clothing idioms, I’d reconnected with the fabric of life. And my guess is, there’s a pattern in there somewhere.

A detail of a 17th century cap at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland "puts a cap on" clothing idioms and wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Animals on caps symbolized the senses. H’ats all, folks!
© Joyce McGreevy

Comment on this post below.

Joyce McGreevy 4 Comments

Scotland/The World's Art & Design/Wordplay

Dec

You Say Potato . . . I Say Pomme de Terre

by Meredith Mullins on December 12, 2016

Potatoes on French market shelves, showing the cultural heritage of the potato in France. (Image © Meredith Mullins.)

Potatoes taking their rightful place on French market shelves
© Meredith Mullins

How France’s Parmentier Changed the Cultural Heritage of the Potato

Imagine . . .

a world without mountains of crispy French fries,

a holiday dinner minus fluffy clouds of mashed potatoes,

a steak without a baked potato dripping with sour cream,

a plate begging for a huddle of new potatoes with a hint of parsley and butter that launches pomme de terre into the strata of haute cuisine,

silence instead of the crunch of a potato chip while watching a ball game.

The wonderful world of food would be quite different without the versatile potato.

Stuffed baked potatoes, showing the cultural heritage of the potato in France. (© Bruskov/iStock.)

French Roadblocks in the Potato’s Cultural Heritage

As we savor the delicious variations of potato, we don’t often think of its lineage—its cultural heritage.

But, if you’re eating a potato creation in France, a moment of tribute is in order, with a particular thank you to a pomme de terre hero—Antoine-Augustin Parmentier.

The cultural heritage of the potato in France did not have an auspicious beginning.

Potato-less cuisine was the norm for the French prior to 1785. While some parts of the world had been introduced to potatoes for many years (or thousands of years in its homeland Peru), the French did not embrace the potato’s virtues.

Potatoes were considered, at best, food for farm animals. At worst, people believed the underground tubers caused leprosy.

Fields of potato, showing the cultural heritage of the potato in France. (Image © P. Wollinga/iStock.)

Parmentier: A Potato Hero

One man changed potato history in France: Antoine-Augustin Parmentier.

He is honored with a Paris metro stop (where you can learn about the history of the potato), a street name, and several statues in France.

Paris metro stop Parmentier, showing the cultural heritage of the potato in France. (Image © Meredith Mullins.)

He is also honored by being named in several French dishes that feature potatoes such as potage Parmentier (potato and leek soup) and anything Parmentier (usually something mixed with mashed potatoes, like hachis Parmentier, which is ground meat and mashed potatoes, similar to Shepherd’s pie).

Hachis parmentier (Shepherd's Pie), showing the cultural heritage of the potato in France. (Image © mikafotostok/iStock.)

His grave in the Père Lachaise Cemetery is ringed with potato plants and, almost always, has a few potatoes placed on the gravestone ledges in tribute.

Who was Parmentier?

a. A health food promoter
b. A serious scientist
c. A hobnobber with celebrities and royalty
d. A master marketer
e. All of the above

The answer, for such a complex character, is of course “All of the above” . . . and more.

Statue of Parmentier by Albert Roze at the Parmentier metro stop, showing the cultural heritage of the potato in France. (Image © Meredith Mullins.)

Parmentier was a pharmacist by trade, but, while in the army, he was captured by the Prussians during the Seven Years War.

During his imprisonment, his diet consisted almost solely of potatoes. To his surprise, he realized the tuber must be nutritious because he stayed healthy. Also to his surprise, he discovered they were pretty darn tasty (no thanks to the prison chef).

When he was released and returned to Paris, he made it his mission to alert the French to the benefits of the potato.

He did research and wrote papers, with seductive titles such as “Inquiry into Nourishing Vegetables that in Times of Necessity Could Be Substituted for Ordinary Food.”

When the papers didn’t quite convince the public, he used his master marketing skills.

Painting of Antoine Parmentier by François Dumont, showing the cultural heritage of the potato in France. (Painting by Françoise Dumont.)

Painting of Parmentier with a bouquet of potato blossoms (hanging at Chateau Versailles)
By François Dumont

He planted a field of potatoes in the city and posted guards so that people would think the plants were valuable. He was also clever enough to give the guards the night off so that people could steal the plants and begin to grow them as the valuable treasures they were.

He hosted sumptuous dinner parties for the Paris notables (including Benjamin Franklin) that featured a variety of potato dishes for their dining pleasure.

For his final marketing push, he gave bouquets of potato blossoms to the king and queen. He won their favor, resulting in a royal decree that the potato was now an acceptable vegetable in France.

Three kinds of potatoes, showing the cultural heritage of the potato in France. (Image © Meredith Mullins.)

A Rich Resource

Annabelle—Amandine—Belle de Fontenay—Charlotte—Chérie—Ratte—Rosella—Bintje—Marabel—Monalisa—Nicola—Agata

These are not starlet stage names. They are the names of just a few of the 300 varieties of potato grown in France.

Thanks to Parmentier’s research, we now know that potatoes are rich in vitamins and minerals, particularly Vitamins B and C, magnesium, and potassium.

And thanks to Parmentier’s tireless work on behalf of the potato, France now produces more than six million tons of potatoes each year and is the primary exporter to other European countries.

Roasted potatoes, showing the cultural heritage of the potato in France. (Image © Meredith Mullins.)

A Lasting Friendship with the Potato

“The potato has now none but friends,” Parmentier wrote in one of his last books. His potato work was done.

The friendship is lasting. Today, most everyone in France (and beyond) is a friend of the potato, as we pay tribute to its cultural heritage by munching our French fries, potato chips, and Parmentier dishes.

The “Oh, I see” moment for me is about taking a moment to thank the dedicated hero of the pomme de terre story in France.

Sometimes you have to fight for what you believe in . . . even if it’s potatoes.

A tile representation of the potato plant at Parmentier Metro Station in Paris, showing the cultural heritage of the potato in France. (Image © Meredith Mullins.)

To read a similar story about one person’s quest to bring a food to Paris (in this case, kale), go to The Kale Project.

For a great recipe for potato leek soup, try David Lebovitz’s version.