Peanut Butter: America in a Jar

We’ve been away from the United States for fourteen months now. By this point in the trip, one of the most frequently asked questions we get is, “What do you miss most from home?” My answer to this is always simple. Peanut Butter. I miss peanut butter.

Creamy. Crunchy. Salted. Unsalted. Any kind will do, really.

Now look, I know what you’re probably thinking. What a shallow guy. (Or perhaps, what a fat ass). But before you write me off for skipping over my parents, my sister, my friends, or my black Labrador retriever; allow me to present my case. Peanut butter is the one object I can think of that represents all these things and more:

It’s the image of my mom cutting off bread crusts, and spreading PB with honey on toast for my kindergarten lunches.

It’s the memory of my dog Jack, licking peanut butter incessantly out of the top hole in his chew toy.

It’s a representation of different personalities in the people I care about – like how my Dad is old school and snobby, and goes for the all natural stuff like Laura Scudders, while my sister tells him to get with the times and buy Skippy.

It’s my friends sending me off on my journey, by including a surprise package of Reese’s in my luggage. My favorite candy.

It’s an object, so I’ve realized, that is tied up with many personal memories. But perhaps even beyond that, Peanut Butter acts as the ultimate cultural reminder of home. It’s like America in a jar.

Even a quick look at the numbers tells us that Americans consume nearly 857 million pounds of the stuff annually, which comes out to about 3.36 pounds of peanut butter per person. That’s a whole lot of PB. And, well, it starts to make sense when you think about it. Since the 1920’s, PB has become the all-American, Jimmy Carter product everyone can relate to; both the poor college students’ staple, and a taste enjoyed by those at the highest income levels. That you can expect to find PB in any US grocery store is more than a given.

For me, that is why the fact that peanut butter is so hard to find in many other countries (or is so inferior in quality) will always serve as a subtle reminder I am away from home. It is why “Where can I find peanut butter?” was the second FAQ listed in my study abroad orientation packet in Argentina, and why a group of Ex-Pats I met in Istanbul were so jealous I had recently received a care package of Trader Joes Valencia peanut butter from the States.

You see, peanut butter isn’t merely a delicious balance of fats, salts, and sweets (coincidentally, a snack perfect for bicycle touring). It’s the one item I can carry with me on my bike that reminds me most of home.

So please, won’t you send us some peanut butter?   ;)

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NPR Publishes Our Story on Child Boxing in Thailand

If someone asked you to bet on the outcome of a nine-year old’s boxing match, would you do it?

In Thailand’s rural villages, it happens all the time, where child boxers and gambling are among the oldest traditions of Muay Thai fighting.

NPR has just published our latest feature story on the lives, ethics, and economics behind one of Thailand’s most controversial sports. Head on over to their website to read about the daily routine of a nine-year old fighter named Chai, and the pressures he faces as his village puts its money on him.

Click here

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4 Basic Questions to Help Understand a Foreign Country

Two sixteen year olds in Nakhon Ratchasima Morgan managed to pick up using some four question magic.

Ask any seasoned traveler how long it takes to understand a foreign country and you’ll likely receive many different answers. Some will say you need to live in a country for a few years. Some will say it can be done in six months. Others believe they can get the gist of things in a few weeks.

Personally, I lean towards the “you have to live there a while” school of thought. I think it takes time to pick up on the nuances of language, or the subtle little ways that people of different genders, or socioeconomic backgrounds, or political ideologies interact in their cultures. Only then can you really start putting yourself in a local’s mindset.

We can’t really do that on this trip. Mostly, it’s because we don’t have the time. The restraint can be especially problematic for our journalism. The issue is: how can we understand what our characters are thinking and feeling when we’ve only been in their country for – what, a matter of weeks?

We’ve thought a lot about that question, and to combat the challenge, we developed four introductory questions to help us understand individuals’ values and beliefs in places we’re traveling through. They are:

  • What is your dream job?
  • What is the happiest you’ve ever been?
  • What makes you proud to be (insert nationality)?
  • Is there anything you would change about your country?

Now these are by no means scientific, but the beauty is that anyone can answer them. You can even try them on friends from your own country. Sometimes they reveal surprising things about people. I’ll use an anecdote to demonstrate:

About a month and a half ago, Morgan and I were sitting in the living room of a farm house in Isaan, one of Thailand’s poorest regions. We were excited because it was our first real opportunity to spend time with a Thai family. We had been invited there by a couchsurfer named Joy, and were eager to learn what her life in rural Thailand was like.

Midway through dinner it became evident we weren’t getting an accurate picture. The problem was that no one acted naturally because we were there. Most of the focus seemed to be on making sure our plates never emptied while they served a thanksgiving-sized feast prepared specially for our visit. (Which we were more than happy to dig into, by the way. We just wished our hosts would relax).

Then we sprung the questions on them, and it caught our hosts off-guard.

“What is your dream job?” I asked the table at large. “Keep in mind it can be anything at all. Astronaut, movie star, business exec – you name it.”

Joy, who was sitting next to me, laughed and translated the question into Thai for her relatives. Her younger sister immediately perked up and chimed in.

Joy translated back for us. “She wants to live in this house and raise four children. Two boys and two girls. That exact ratio.”

“And what about you?” I asked.

Joy thought about it a moment.

“I guess I’d want to become a professional traveler, going around and seeing the world…”

Her voice trailed off a couple of seconds before she added quietly,

“I mean — I want to be doing something like what you guys are…”

I smiled at her and looked down into my plate. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

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Our Best Bicycle Crashes (Scientifically Rated on a 10 Point Scale)

Last week Morgan and I got into a pretty bad tumble on the way from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh – one of those types of crashes you wish was filmed because it would have looked awesome in slow motion. There have been more than a handful of those since we left Paris, and it got us thinking; what are the most dramatic bicycle crashes we’ve had? With the help of science and stuff, we determined the five best.

#5: Dijon, France

Victim: Chris

Culprit: Railroad Tracks

The Set-up: It’s day 5 of the Postulate One trip and Chris kicks things off by letting a front wheel slip into the diagonal railroad tracks crossing the intersection. He quickly learns his bike is not a train.

Style Points: Superman projection over the handlebars, front bags thrown off, blocking traffic: 7 points.

Damage: skinned elbow, bent brake lever.  6 points.

Avg. Score: 6.5 points

#4: Madhra Pradesh, India

Victim: Morgan

The culprit: boy on bicycle

The Set-up: It started with the cow.  Morgan was minding his own business, cruising fast through the village in the middle of the road.  A boy cycling next to him swerved to avoid the cow, and t-boned Morgan in the front wheel.

Style Points: Having an entire village of onlookers surround the crash site, the scared kid grabbing his bike and running away before he could get scolded. 8 points

Damage: busted shoulder, snapped gear lever. 7 points.

Avg. Score: 7.5 points

#3: Pontic Mountains, Turkey

Victim: Morgan

The culprit: Big Rig Truck

The Set-up: Riding through one of Turkey’s 4 kilometer long tunnels along the Black Sea, Morgan gets a little too close to the curb when a big rig truck passes by him.

Style Points: Causing the next approaching truck to slam on its brakes and avoid crushing Morgan’s head by a matter of feet.  10 points!

Damage: cracked helmet, deep psychological fear of tunnels for the rest of the trip. 7 points

Avg. Score:8.5 points

Continue reading

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Let the Story do the Work

The cover photo of our upcoming feature story, on Child Muay Thai boxing

Every time we do a feature story, we take a leap of faith.  It starts with just a topic.  In Thailand, we decided to write a story about Muay Thai boxing.  That’s all we really knew; the underworld of boxing was a total mystery to us.  We chose the topic because it was sensational, and because an American audience would at least have heard the name “Muay Thai” before, and might be just curious enough to click through a headline.

The challenge is that we’ve only got one shot to get it right because of time constraints. It normally takes a week just to set up a story, arranging the right interviews and following the reference trail to find the people we want to write about. If we dive into an underworld and find out there’s nothing there, or there are no fresh angles to cover, we’re out of luck—we won’t have enough time to start over with a fresh topic. It’s in the nature of this trip that we have to keep moving.

We try and beat the odds by forming hypotheses about where the story might come from.  We start running a NECER analyses before we’ve got any facts. That is — what is the News, Emotion, Conflict, Entertainment, and Relatability?  We use that to start building the story in our heads.  In Thailand we thought: They have kids boxing.  That’s sensational… they must be getting used for something. What’s the betting like on the kids?  Are the trainers raising the kids like they raise dogs for a pitbull fight, so they can bet on them? Yes — that’s got to be the story!  The kids are raised for combat so they can be bet on.  Let’s try and find the boy hero that’s being forced into the ring.

These hypotheses are good, because they give us a place to start.  But they can also close our minds to other clues that might lead to the real story.

As we biked to Isaan, where we would do our investigations, we came up with a few unsupported predictions: that Muay thai boxing isn’t a way out of poverty, because there is too much other economic development in the region, that a fighter didn’t make money until he went pro, and that the trainers were inherently self-interested.  We were wrong on all counts.  The only thing we had right was that the story was about kid boxing.

The story ended up being about kids who box to support their families. They can make as much money in a night of fighting as their parents make in a season of rice farming.  It was about the pressure a 9 year old boy faced as he was tasked with winning to bring his family a better life.  The children loved the fraternity of the gym.  The trainers were kind and charitable.  They bet on the fighters like everyone else, but they trained them as a service to the community, and as a way for children to learn discipline and respect.  Chan, the trainer we ended up reporting on, would take anyone who came and was willing to work.  He sheltered and fed the fighters out of his own pocket.

It took us weeks to find that story. We spent days arguing about what kind of cash flow Chan was hiding, what his interests were, how we could pry them out.  We poked hard enough we offended him and almost compromised the story.

As a reporter, it’s often a struggle to drop the juicy story in your head and tell it how it really is. One has to learn to drop hypotheses in a minute, redevelop them multiple times in the course of an interview.  Mostly, we as writers have to learn to show the story, not tell it; it maintains the discipline of truth and helps eliminate what is imagined.

We have had to learn that a good story cannot be fabricated.  It must be built with what is there. In some ways, it is similar to photography. A good photographer knows exactly how to adjust the settings on their camera and position themselves for good composition. They have the eye, and they can see the photo before they take it. But the photo has to be there before they can bring it out.

It is the same thing with good journalism. Our job is not to write stories. It is to find them, to develop an eye for them.  Good technique and writing only serve to make the raw stuff of a good story more alive and accessible.

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