Tony Eitnier and Thomas Arnold, authors of the Contemporary Nomad travel blog, live quintessentially postmodern lives.  Eitnier, German language and communications trainer, and Arnold, an American chemist, started their travels as couple without a home.  Because of the exclusionary marriage laws in their respective countries, neither was able to obtain a visa to live in the other’s home country.  This pushed them into a nomadic lifestyle, and online entrepreneurship, both of which they have come to love.

Read the full interview here: http://www.transitionsabroad.com/listings/travel/travel_writing/travel-blogging-contemporary-nomad.shtml

My friend Garret Clarke went to Sri Lanka for two weeks this summer to shoot a reclusive and rarely photographed tribe called the Dambana Vedda, but he came back from the trip with five sweet series'.  Personally, I like the train ride series the best.  But his outdoor studio portraits of the Dambana Vedda hanging out in the jungle wearing loincloths and carrying spears are pretty damned NatGeo.  And the tea farming series is just plain pretty.

He just finished doing the post processing and has posted them to his website. He's also looking for writers in Sri Lanka who are looking for pictures for their stories, or would like to write one based on his.

Check them out: http://www.garretmclarke.com

Hi Matt, I like your site!

I just landed a job at a language school in Taiwan, teaching both kindergarten and elementary age kids.  I found the job through IACC.

I have a few questions:

First, I noticed that you said do not deal with recruiters as many of them have shady business practices.  I have heard this before, but so far IACC has been very helpful.

Second, do you think NTD $50,000 per month + 5000 rent subsidy is too low a salary?

Kindest Regards,

Mel

Dear Mel,

I have said before that, as a general rule, you should not use a recruiter of any kind to find a job.  Despite this, I'm sure that some agencies are not all bad.  However, it is generally believed among teachers that most agencies are trying to make money at the expense of the teacher.

Agencies make money because they can hire people abroad who do not know the going rate, and pay them less.  You should never teach English in Taiwan (except in very rare cases) for less than NT$600 per hour.  From the looks of the job you have been offered the salary is low.

The web page you sent me says there 25 teaching hours per week.

25 X 4 = 100 hours per month.

NT$50,000 + NT$5000 housing bonus = NT$55,000.

NT$55,000 / 100 hours = NT$550 per hour.

Personally, I would never accept this job.  But, even though the pay is a little bit low, it may not be too bad of a job.  Some people would argue that if the school gives you block hours each day (all of your working hours in a row, rather than at different times of day) and that you are not spending your time running to different branches of the school in different parts of the city, then it’s not a bad deal.

But, you should notice that your working hours are listed on the website as being 8:00 am to 6:00 pm, which is a lot more than five hours per day.

You should be warned that some schools and agencies will offer certain terms to entice a person into work, but will change the conditions of employment once the school has arrived.  They will use the new teachers ignorance about Taiwan, their ability to find a new job, and their ability to get a work visa and ARC, to pressure the teacher into accepting their terms.

Protect yourself at the front end. Hold the school to the terms you've agreed to.  If they don't, then leave.  If they are dishonest at the front end, they will remain dishonest during your employment.

Don't let them scare you into accepting conditions that are less than fair.  You can leave and you can find a different job and a work permit on your own.

Best,

Matt

Dear Matt,

“Who’s the winner?” The tattooed Filipino man holding the microphone asked me.

I couldn’t make up my mind.  Neither midget had tried very hard. As far as I was concerned the whole fight was a sham.  But everyone in the bar, which included seven drunk tourists, thirty bored-looking strippers, one greasy Filipino announcer, and two midgets wearing boxing gloves the size of their heads, was staring at me.  I had to make a decision. I was the referee.

I bent over and grabbed the glove of the shorter of the two midgets and lifted it over his head.

“The winner,” the announcer shouted into the microphone.

Two people clapped.  Somebody coughed.

When I told my friends about the experience later they were jealous.  “How was it?” They wanted to know.

I can tell you this about refereeing a midget boxing match in a Manila strip club: it’s not as glamorous as it sounds.

“How did you get to do it?” They wanted to know.

The simple answer is this: I didn’t do anything.

That answer, however, didn’t satisfy my friends.  They demanded I explain how it came about that I, the “lucky bastard”, had the good fortune to stand in a boxing ring with two three-foot tall men hitting each other in the face for the amusement of a handful of drunk backpackers. It had nothing to do with good fortune.  It was a scam.

This is how it happened:

Some Filipino friends had brought my girlfriend Catherine, our friend Sarah, and I, to the red light district of Makati, a seedy strip of convenience stores, street prostitutes, and strip bars, for our only night in Manila. They brought us to a bar called Ringside to see what the marquee advertised as “Lady Boxing and Midget Oil Wrestling”.

The inside of the bar was dark, lit mainly by neon beer advertisements, with booths surrounding a realistic looking boxing ring in the center of the room.  There were only two or three other patrons sitting on the far side of the bar, all of whom were men. It wasn’t surprising the business was slow. It was Thursday night. What was surprising was the number of bikini wearing bar girls.  There were at least thirty. Several were talking to the men on the other side of the bar.

We all ordered drinks for about 250 pesos ($6.50 USD) each, which was expensive considering there are places where you can buy an entire bottle of rum for nearly one-tenth of that price. The price made it clear that it was not a bar for locals.  It was for tourists only. The way the girls were talked to the male patrons made it was clear that they had a price too.

We didn’t want to party.  We were tired from traveling all day. We didn’t want to stay out late much because we needed to get up early in the morning to catch a flight.  We had only come to see the show. So, when our drinks arrived, we sipped them slowly, killing time, waiting for the show.

As we waited, a masculine-looking Filipino woman came and stood behind Catherine in the booth.  She started to talk to Catherine and, after a moment, asked Catherine if she would mind a massage.  Before Catherine could answer, the husky mustached woman, who had several homemade tattoos on her arm, began rubbing her shoulders.  She was polite and friendly.  She told that she worked as a boxer, used to be a bar girl, and had spent time in jail for beating up her boyfriend.  She was scary.

The waitress asked Catherine if she would like to buy her manly masseuse a drink and Catherine agreed. That was the hustle. Girlie bars across Asia almost universally employ this scam. Girls talk to customers, and customers buy the girls drinks that cost much more than the customer’s drinks. The girls are paid a commission for the drinks they hustle.  The drink Catherine had just bought would probably cost around $400 pesos ($9 USD), more than the price of a modest room in a hostel. Catherine, however, didn’t know this. This was her first trip in Asia. Catherine hadn’t traveled much before and I was proud to see her on the receiving end of her first tourist scam.  It was kind of like her indoctrination into our tribe of travelers.  Now she was one of us.

Now that I think of it that way, it sounds kind of funny. My girlfriend was being hustled by a Filipino ex-convict prostitute, and I thought it was cute.

Most tourist scams operate on a simple principle: make the tourist feel obligated to give you money.  Shame him into paying.  Be overly friendly.  Offer help.  Assume the role of guide.  Hail a taxi.  Give her a massage. Then ask for money or, in this case, a drink.

Since our table comprised nearly half of the customers in the bar, I thought it likely that we would be on the receiving end of some kind of hustle beyond the usually girls-for-drinks maneuver.

After waiting a while, and seeing no indication that a fight would take place, I asked Catherine’s friend if there would be any boxing.  She told us there would. It was a special night. We would get to see midget boxing. Then she shouted at the only male Filipino in the bar, a middle-aged man with greased back hair and a shirt unbuttoned to his naval.  He came over.  “You want to see midget boxing?” He asked me.

“Yes.”

“You want to buy them some drinks?”

“No.”

“Come on. They work hard.  You buy them some drinks.”

“How many?”

“Six each.”

“No.”

“You don’t think they work hard?” He asked.  I didn’t reply.

“Come on man.  Just buy them some drinks.”

“No.”

He shook his head and walked away, disgusted.

The man came back several times. Each time we repeated our conversation. Then he took a different approach.  He walked up to me.

“My friend.” He said.

“No.” I replied.

“No, no, no.” He grinned. “The midgets.  They box for you.  OK?”

“Cool.”

“You want to be referee, friend?”

“No thanks.”

“Come on buddy. We need a referee.”

Everyone was looking at me.

“Do it.” They urged.  “It’ll be great.  We’ll take pictures.”

I agreed.

A moment later, I was in the ring with two men whose heads barely reached my waist.  They each high-fived me.  The greasy announcer introduced them.  When announced, the first did a cartwheel, and the second jumped in the air and kicked himself in the head with both feet.  Then they went to their corners, the bell rang, and the fight was on.

Mostly I just stood here leaning on the ropes and drinking my beer.  Like I said before, the fight wasn’t very exciting.  When one of the midgets went down, I’d get down on one knee and do an exaggerated ten count (as you can see in the video taken by my friend, below).

Finally, after several boring rounds, I was asked to choose the winner.

Then the announcer asked me, “How did they do?” He held the microphone to my mouth.

“Great.”

“So,” he continued, “you will buy the fighters some drinks, for their great job?”

Everyone was silent.  The midgets were both looking at me. It seemed like everyone had stopped what they were doing and was staring at me.  He held the mike to my mouth.

“Uhhh.”

If I said no, I would basically be insulting the midgets to their faces and I would look like a cheapskate in front of everyone.  This was the hustle. I did a fast calculation. If the drinks cost 400 pesos each ($9 USD).  Six drinks each would cost nearly $110 USD. Was that worth insulting the midgets and losing face in front of thirty scantily clad Filipino prostitutes?

Definitely.

“No.” I climbed out of the ring and walked back to the table.

“That asshole!” Said my girlfriend. “He knew you didn’t want to buy the drinks, and then he did that!”

“Yes, that’s what they do. It’s their job.”

A couple of minutes later the midgets came over shook my hand to show that there were no hard feelings. It seemed like they knew I was being pressured unwillingly. They were so gracious that after they left I called the waitress and asked her to take them a couple of beers.

My travels in third world Asia may have made me good at resisting all manner of scams, but I think I'll always be a sucker for good ‘ol fashioned decency.

The Ringside Bar can be found at:
4853 Kalayaan corner P. Burgos St., Makati City
Opens at 8 p.m. everyday
For more info or reservations call 8997106.

My name is Matt Gibson and I want to answer your questions.

You may wonder what qualifies me to answer your questions. Well, I have a degree in Sociology, which qualifies me to theorize abstractly about everything. I've also traveled on four continents, lived in Taiwan for about five years, and speak Chinese fairly well. I've also figured out how to operate a DSLR camera on manual and make a blog that is, for reasons that no one has been able to explain, read by hundreds of strangers every day.

I've had several unique experiences, such as swimming with whale sharks, sitting on the back of a disgustingly fat crocodile, jumping off the side of a mountain strapped to the crotch of a man wearing an oversized nylon garbage bag,  and climbing a bandito infested volcano in the middle of the night with an ex-marine.

After reading that last part you may feel that my judgement isn't trustworthy. If that's what you think, then I have just one thing to say to you: you're not alone.

But hey, the advice is free, so what do you have to lose?

If you have a question about travel, writing, photography, love, how to make love, how to make cupcakes, why US customs officers insist on ruining your travel plans, the meaning of the ending of Shutter Island, or anything else, you can contact me using the contact form below, or by emailing me at xpatmatt (at) gmail (dot) com.

I'm from a small town in Canada's Rocky Mountains called Cranbrook.  Cranbrook has a population of about 20,000 people.  The main industries are mining, logging, and tourism.  There are numerous trailer parks and it's likely there are more people living in trailers than houses.  The surrounding area is checkered with farms. Wide brimmed cowboy hats, belt buckles that could double as coffee tables, and blue jeans so dark they look wet worn tight enough to induce infertility are always in style.  The vehicle of choice is the pickup truck.  Trucks suspended less than three feet off the ground with tires smaller in circumference than hula hoops are considered to be "for pussys". Bingo night is big news.  Hockey is religion.

This July I went home to visit for two weeks.  I didn't take out my camera much (just a few times to take some pictures of my family and a trip to the lake with friends), but I got a some good shots.  Here they are.

Family

Dinner at my father's house (with my sister's fiancee).

My lil' sister Brianne.

(From left to right) My Auntie Patty, cousin Holly, and mother.

My Uncle Fred and my mom.

My Uncle Fred. He's 86 and lives in a cabin in the woods that has no running water and, until recently, had no electricity. When he wants to go to town he has to shoo away the bears that sleep on the hood of his truck with a broom. I took this picture in a nursing home where he was recovering from knee surgery. He told me about his days doing construction in Northern Thailand, Turkey, and Iran. The last time he visited my mother he brought a grocery bag brimming with uncashed pension cheques and asked my mother what he should do with them. I suggested he go traveling. He had just finished reading Seven Years in Tibet, and decided he should go there. "I'd rather die over there than stuck in this place, where ya' need a damned security code just to go outside," he said. He's everything that I want to be when I'm 86

A Trip to the Lake

One afternoon my friend Theresa, her daughter Jaidyn, and her friend took me to nearby Jim Smith Lake.  It was entertaining.

Rednecks fightin' at the beach. It all started with the guy in the green shorts mouthing off the other trying to impress some 16 year old girls.

It was a really pathetic fight. Here the dude who ended up losing is hugging the other guy's leg.

Then he tried to pull the guy's shorts down. Just sad.

This is the groundhog that lived in a hole beside our our spot on the grass.

We fed him chips.

I said that the chips would probably give him diarrhea so the girls tried to give him a raisin, but he was wouldn't take it because he liked the chips better..

This picture epitomizes Cranbrook - a big ol' pickup roaring down the highway with mountain in the background.

Today wrote a a query letter to a magazine editor about an article about different walks that a person can take in Taiwan.  While looking up quotations to use in the query I suddenly remembered how much I used to enjoy walking.  When I first started traveling, whenever I arrived in a new city, after putting my things in a hostel, the first thing I would do was walk down random streets and alleys and I wouldn't stop until I had gotten myself good and lost.  That would usually take one or two hours, and finding my way back several more. One my first trip outside of North America ( I was 18 at the time) I spent eight hours lost in Madrid at night.  It was the most exciting thing that I had ever done.  I explored cobblestone alleys and unknown plazas and wandered among centuries old pillars holding up centuries old roofs. I saw gangs of street hoods and tapa bars filled with overweight, overly made-up prostitutes -- things I'd never seen before in my life.  I was even accosted by one extremely persistent old hooker missing several teeth who insisted in walking arm-in-arm with me and chattering away to me in Spanish even though it was obvious that I didn't speak Spanish and wasn't going to give her any money.

Walking is the best way to see a place.  If you drive, you watch the road.  In a taxi, the city moves past too quickly.  Riding a bicycle is even too fast and distracting. Walking is the only way to really examine the people, the shops, the art, and the trash.  The only way to feel the texture of a city at ground level is with your feet.

So, in celebration of my remembrance of my favorite way to explore, here are ten quotes about the glory of walking:

An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.
~ Henry David Thoreau

My father considered a walk among the mountains
as the equivalent of churchgoing.
~ Aldous Huxley

Walking is the great adventure, the first meditation,
a practice of heartiness and soul primary to humankind.
Walking is the exact balance between spirit and humility.
~ Gary Snyder

In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks.
~ John Muir

There is nothing like walking to get the feel of a country.  A fine landscape is like
a piece of music; it must be taken at the right tempo.  Even a bicycle goes too fast.
~ Paul Scott Mowrer

Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.
~ Steven Wright

I would walk along the quais when I had finished work or when I was trying to think something out. It was easier to think if I was walking and doing something or seeing people doing something that they understood.
~ Ernest Hemingway

All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking.
~ Friedrich Nietzsche

It is a great art to saunter.
~ Henry David Thoreau

Meandering leads to perfection.
~ Lao Tzu

Check out this month's Action Asia magazine for my profile of one of Taiwan's most prominent and longstanding foreign paragliding pilots, Malcom Vargas.

Damn, it's been a good year for awards.  Today I was notified that I was chosen as one of the top fifty travel blogs of 2010 ) by Awarding the Web -- an organization that strives "to recognize excellent web content so that those who have worthwhile content can be distinguished from the useless, bad content that plagues today’s internet."

I have no idea how these people find my blog.  I don't rank high enough with Google to come up at the top of searches, and I'm not listed in the top sections of any of the travel blog toplists.  Yet, this is the second award (read about the first one here) I've received this year.

Strangely, both of these awards came from contests sponsored by online education companies.  This award was sponsored by Online Schools, and clicking on the badge will take you to their website.

Regardless of who they came from, they're very flattering.  I hope you all continue to enjoy the blog, and keep nominating me for awards!