Mar
Narration will be added later today. For now, we’ll allow the photos to speak for themselves to describe the surfing half of this adventure philanthropy expedition to Nicaragua….
Roadmonkey women (from left) Christina, Deborah, Carolee & Zaby, with Roadmonkey co-leader Juan Flores (left) and surf instructor Jonny Hillyard (blond dude).
Deborah R. catching a beginner wave, aided by Roadmonkey expedition co-leader Juan Flores.
Deborah J. riding high, with instructor Alfredo in the background
Roadmonkeys, from left, Emily, Zaby & Carolee, evalulating the waves.
Okay, we’re off for lesson no. 3 now….more soon.
Stay tuned,
Paul
Mar
Dear Friends,
On Friday, Roadmonkey launches it’s fourth adventure philanthropy expedition, to Nicaragua. Follow our progress here.
The first four days, we’ll learn to surf the mellow waves around San Juan del Sur, on the southern Pacific coast.
Then, on Wednesday, Mar. 9, we caravan six hours north, into the northern highlands, near the Honduran border, to a mountain-top town called San Jose de Cusmapa, to spend three days building a playground for some 400 school children. For most of them, this will be their first-ever playground. We’re building it entirely from local materials, input from the kids in the community. No prefabricated swingsets or slights or monkey bars on this project. To the contrary, this will be a unique, sturdy structure that incorporates Nicaraguan culture, art and homegrown natural woods to create a world-class playground you won’t find anywhere else….because it was custom designed by two professional engineers: Judy Lee and Adam Vollmer (read more on this below).
Our non-profit partner on this adventure philanthropy expedition is the Fabretto Children’s Foundation, which runs the school and which has been a steady, positive presence for poor children in Nicaragua for decades.
Pristine & empty: Playa Yanqui, south of San Juan del Sur.
Our playground building partner is WGBH Boston, the PBS station that has chosen to film this Roadmonkey volunteer project as an episode of a new program showing kids how to use engineering to improve the lives of people in need in creative, sustainable ways.
I will be posting photos and daily updates to our 9-day surfing and playground-building expedition. So please stay tuned to this blog. I’ll also be posting pix & updates – as long as internet connections & bandwidth allow – to Roadmonkey’s Facebook and Twitter pages.
Join us on this unique combination of physical challenge and volunteer work collaboration in Nicaragua. See you in Nica starting Friday!
Sincerely,
PS, If you’re reading this in the stone-cold, slab-gray deadzone known as the Northeastern United States, here’s the forecast for Nica this weekend. And I doubt next week will be any different.
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Feb
Jan
Check out two professionally made 3-minute videos portraying the Kilimanjaro climb & volunteer project at the heart of our 2009 Tanzania expedition.
In June 2009, a 10-member Roadmonkey expedition team summited Mt. Kilimanjaro, at 19,345 feet the highest point in Africa, to complete the adventure portion of the Tanzania adventure philanthropy expedition.
Below are two 3-minute videos, professionally shot & edited by two expedition team members: Steve and Joanie Wynn of Bayside Entertainment, based in Marin County, Calif.
The first video shows the Roadmonkey crew during our 6-day ascent of mighty Kilimanjaro:
The second 3-minute video portrays our post-climb volunteer project: refurbishing an impoverished school outside of Dar es Salaam, Tanzania’s capital, and installing a sustainable filtration system to allow the children, many of who have been orphaned by East Africa’s AIDS epidemic, to drink the groundwater at the school. We also installed affordable, clean-burning gas stoves to replace more expensive & environmentally unfriendly wood charcoal cook barrels.
When we arrived at the school, some of the students, dressed in their uniforms, performed a lovely, cheorgraphed dance in one of the classrooms:
In June 2010, Roadmonkey will return to Tanzania, to climb glacier-capped Kilimanjaro once again and then, in the village of Babati, southwest of the mountain, build a fish pond for a new school.
Join us on this challenging, gratifying and memory-making adventure philanthropy expedition.
Dec
Read “The Giving Trip,” in Outside magazine’s Dec. 2009 issue, about Roadmonkey Adventure Philanthropy’s 2008 expedition to northwest Vietnam. For two weeks, 11 Roadmonkeys – from New York, Boston, Los Angeles, Toronto and Madrid – cycled some 350 miles through rugged hills and valleys near the Chinese and Lao borders, then spent four days building a playground at an orphanage west of Hanoi.
The article’s author, Mike Kessler, an award-winning Outside writer and self-described skeptic of the trend toward “voluntourism,” came to see Roadmonkey as such a good thing that he joined the company this year.
More on that later…
Oct
At the end of this week, new Roadmonkeys from California, Connecticut, New York and Colorado will board planes for Hanoi, convening on Saturday to begin Roadmonkey Adventure Philanthropy expedition No. 3, to Vietnam’s Central Highlands.
I and my co-leader, Michael Stephen Kessler, will be taking this small group via mountain bikes into some of the most heavily contested areas of the country during the war with the United States. We’ll make a day ride to the site of the almost unbearably gruesome My Lai killings, by an isolated and frustrated squad of American soldiers in March 1968. As I discovered during my scouting trip to this region in March, My Lai sits incongruously 1 km from a serene white-sanded oceanfront beach area.
The Roadmonkey expedition will pass through the town of Quang Ngai, on the central coast, then turn west on Highway 24 to take on the rolling hills and valleys that will swallow us into the jungly digestive tract known as the northern Central Highlands.
Students at the Kon Ray boarding school, Central Highlands, playing a local version of jump rope.
Five days of cycling through mountain passes, alpine forests and hot summer valleys (the seasons are different here than in North America) will put us in the frontier-like city of Kon Tum, the capital of a province that is home to dozens of ethnic minority tribes. The town names sound different here from other parts of Vietnam; tribal languages continue, and a visitor can see the differences from the majority Kinh (Vietnam’s dominant ethnic group) in the faces of local people here; it’s quite fascinating. There is also a poverty rate in this area that one doesn’t see, or see so viscerally, in other parts of Vietnam. I’ve thought of the tribal peoples as similar to North American native tribes in the economic and community challenges they face: education, health, environment, viability of traditional mores and sustainable development.
Roadmonkey’s volunteer project in Vietnam will be building an organic farm, 400 square meters in size, at a school for ethnic H’re, H’mong and other minority students in the Kon Tum region. Our non-profit partner for this project is the East Meets West Foundation, a large, organized and extremely effective American organization that has been building and creating health and education opportunities for Vietnamese people for two decades. My great thanks go to John Anner, EMW’s executive director, for inviting Roadmonkey to partner with his excellent group of managers.
Those managers include Ms. Nguyen Thi Minh Thu, EMW’s program director who began the Roadmonkey partnership with great effort and elan, and Ms. Vo Thi Hien, in Da Nang, who is as pleasant and easy to work with as she is organized and effective. These ladies are wonderful people to plan a complicated and challenging 4-day volunteer project with!
Teachers at the Kon Ray school where Roadmonkey's volunteer project begins, Nov. 6.
The current group of Roadmonkeys — six women and 1 man — raised more than $8,000 for our volunteer project at the Kon Ray school. That is truly amazing, and part of a growing tradition at Roadmonkey Adventure Philanthropy: our clients have raised more than $30,000 in tax-deductible contributions from their own social networks since last year, for the three volunteer projects they have completed in northwest Vietnam (Nov. 2008), Tanzania (July 2009) and now Central Highlands, Vietnam (Nov. 6-9, 2009).
That is, after all, what adventure philanthropy, and Roadmonkey, are all about.
Our November project is particularly urgent now, only a few weeks after Typhoon Ketsana roared through Central Vietnam, killing dozens of people and causing enormous damage. The Kon Ray school, in fact, saw its water-supply system washed away in the typhoon. Roadmonkey’s projects focus on sustainable programs. But in this case, given the urgent need for humanitarian and other relief, we and East Meets West have agreed to donate a percentage of the $8,000 we’ve raised to emergency projects to get the school and its people and students back on track.
Tomorrow I fly from New York to Los Angeles, to convene with my expedition co-leader and gear up for the 12-hour flight to Asia.
More soon from the road to Vietnam…
Paul von Zielbauer
Sep
Sept. 19: I had an adventurous last couple days in Cusco, gateway city to Machu Picchu and the Inca Trail that serves it.
After meeting with the impressive crew at Amazonas Explorer to discuss a rafting adventure next spring, I rented a mountain bike from Cusco’s most famous Scotsman, Dougie Stewart. Dougie has a huge inventory of killer Kona bikes, most all downhill fat-tire demons. I rented a Kona downhiller to ride uphill, steeply, for two hours, along a winding road arcing up into the hills overlooking the city.
Guinea pigs, caught wild, eaten con gusto.
Two hours of near non-stop pedaling, up grades that only a bike with an almost 1/1 gear ratio could make possible. I could have walked the bike faster than I was riding it at certain points, but there’s something to be said for consistency. So I stayed in the saddle….a cursed, evil saddle. My behind was numb after an hour.
I rode — pedaling maniacally in absurdly low gear, yet moving at a pace that can be described only as glacial — past the white monolithic statue of Jesus Cristo, overlooking Cusco below, and several Inca ruins, to and from which a trickle of other foreigners were walking. I envied them. All they had to do was put one foot in front of the other. Walking. What a concept.
On I peddled. Until I reached, finally, a windy, almost cold plateau that led to the turnoff for the village that Scotsman Dougie Stewart told me was the point at which all offroad trails lead back to Cusco.
“You can’t get lost. Evre’thing leeds bahk ta toun,” Dougie told me, blissfully. He offered to draw me a “wee map” showing that it was physically impossible to get lost.
Downhilling toward Cusco: Halfway to lost, two hours from the middle of nowhere.
Exiting town, of course, I promptly got lost.
Later on, back in Cusco, Dougie would tell me, “Ah, you taerned rrright, when you should’ve gone strrreight thrreuw toun.”
I really enjoy Scots accents.
Anyway, instead of the sloping, enjoyable offroad trails that Dougie told me I’d easily find back to Cusco, I found narrow, steep, and ankle-breaking rocky cowpaths that required me to carry the Kona bike on my back. I’d had enough downhill hiking in Peru, mind you. This was neither rugged nor fun. The sun was setting, I was in the middle of literally nowhere. No people, no animals, no man-made structures. Just big hills that looked…really cold to sleep on all night.
Do I turn back and take the highway back home, and know I wimped out? Or do I trust in the Scotsman’s proclamation: “You can’t get lost”? I had one hour of daylight. If I kept riding/carrying the bike further into the hills, presumably toward Cusco, I ran the risk of having to backtrack in total darkness on ankle-breaking terrain….carrying the bloody bike.
Sometimes you just give yourself up to the universe, and this was one of those times. I figured the worst that could happen was that night would fall, I’d be lost in the hills and have to slaughter a cow and slice open it’s belly and crawl inside to survive, like that scene in “Star Wars.”
But eventually, the deeper into the hills I rode (and carried the bike), I found signs of civilization. By “civilization,” I mostly refer to a litany of angry dogs that, no matter how small, seemed to think they needed to angrily nash at my ankles as I rode by their masters’ homes.
But dogs begat homes, which begat homeowners who pointed me in the direction of “toun.” By sunset, I was riding through the smoggy streets of Cusco….on a now-flat tire. I walked the bike back to the drop-off point and was happily exhausted.
In Cusco, Das Auto takes a back seat to Das Llama.
After a sound, desperately needed sleep, I spent one more day in town, absorbing its essential flavor and relishing the relative dearth of foreign tourists. Cusco is a pretty city for the uninitiated. The climate is cool, dry and crisp by day, chilly by night. It’s small enough at its heart for one to still glimpse any number of hearty old women walking their llamas through the narrow cobblestone streets.
Roadmonkey will be back here, in spring 2010, to raft the untamed Apurimac River, and hike the lesser-known segments of the Inca Trail around Machu Picchu.
Now, it’s off to Vietnam, to scout out Roadmonkey’s November expedition.
See you there!
- Paul
Sep
Going back in time a couple days…
On Sunday, Anotonio (my driver) and I left the tourist-choked lil’ town of Chivay, Peru, at the eastern end of el Cañón de Colca, the Colca Canyon, at 6:45am. I arrived in Peru four days ago to scout Roadmonkey’s March 2010 adventure philanthropy expedtion.
We drove west to Cruz del Condor, where multitudes of candy-colored coach buses disgorge camera-carrying tourists at canyon’s edge to watch South American condors, the world’s largest flying carnivores, ride thermals looking for breakfast.
Condors are a huge tourist draw on this route, so there was a lot of French and Dutch and Germans snapping digital pix at a speck with wings in the canyon far below, presumably a condor. We (the tourists) saw a couple condors wing by, maybe 100 feet below the cliff. It was nice. I couldn’t help note, though, how many completely worthless photos the crowd was snapping.
Antonio & I hopped back in his Hyundai van and drove to Cabanaconde, a sleepy town on the western edge of Colca Canyon. I dropped my bags off at my hotel, sunscreened up, filled my liter water bottle and hit the trail down into canyon. I was in for a rough surprise.
Two solid, near-nonstop hours of very steep, rock-strewn downhill trail hiking. About 3,000 to 3,500 feet in total. Killer on the quads, and on any knees that have more than, say, 23 years of wear on them. This is one tough canyon climb, my friends.
My legs, fairly well-conditioned from Brooklyn-to-Central Park-and-back bike rides through the New York summer, were shaking 40 minutes into the 2-hour hike to the “oasis” at the Colca River’s edge. I made it down, after several pauses in which I mentally parried invidious “holy crap” thoughts, to the grassy, palmy oasis by 12:45pm.
The oasis was really pretty cool: a couple of cold but clear, blue swimming pools, framed by green, short thick grass that ran right up to the pool edge, and a basic bamboo-style cantina with drinks, surly young waiter/minder, and a single “menu” aka food offering: a plate of rice, a puddle de papas puras (ie, crappy box-made mashed potatoes) and, to top off the carbohydrate rush, one boiled potato. That was lunch. But it did me fine.
I drank two bottles of sprite and ate the carb plate from hell and swam and read my book, ¨Zeitoun,¨ which is excellent, and lolled in the sun, listening to the breeze in the trees and the rush of the river water in the distance and thought, If every sunday were like this, free of worry or electronics or the need to do 10 things or compete with peers or see anyone except the couple people one wanted to see…that would be alright with me. It’s the same idea that draws me, still, to the idea of a year cooking, eating, writing and surfing in Hawaii.
A simple but full life. The sun and breeze, and the unique feeling of a nature-nestled well being, away from most other human effects, were worth the hike down. Note to self: find places like this more often.
After two hours of rest and relaxation, I had — after another refreshingly crisp swim — to put on my dusty brown pants and sweat-dried merino wool Ibex long sleeve and strap on the backpack and start the slog back up that 3,000 feet or so. Another round of “holy crap” thoughts soon began filtering into my sun-baked head.
For perspective, Cabanaconde lies at 3,600 meters above sea level — about 10,800 feet. For all y’all Americans, that’s twice as high as Denver.
What a climb. Three hours. Often at a 10% grade, if not greater. It was everything I had to keep shuffling one dusty boot ahead of another, one…more…step….higher. There was a sense of urgency driving me: darkness falls quickly and promptly at 6pm; I had started climbing at 3pm. If I took longer than the prescribed three hours, I’d risk being caught on the side of this cold, rocky cañón in utter darkness.
I passed several people on the trail. By passed, I mean I ever so slowly caught up to them, whispered “hi” or “ciao” or “hola” in a parched, non-accented throaty way and kept moving…glacially slow. The relentless sun, at this altitude, exacted its toll, in sweat and fatigue. Many times, I had to stop, sit on a rock and let my heart rate lower back down below its “gimme a break, pal” threshold.
The challenge was at least half mental. I had just enough water — I thought — to last me back to Cabanaconde. Rationing water on these kinds of climbs is, itself, an exhausting mind game. At one point I came upon a Peruvian guy with two mules on the trail. A female Euro-tourist sat on one of them. Her Euro-dude stood by, prepared to hike on foot. I asked the mule owner how much longer to Cababanconde.
“One hour,” he said. “You want a mule?”
I trundled upward. Finally, the sun dropped far enough onto the horizon to allow boulders on the zig-zag trail to create shadows in which to rest, ready one’s body and mind to continue onward.
When I got to the top of the trail, where it levels off toward town, the sun was 10 minutes from dropping behind the 20,000-foot peaks to the west. I sat down on a dusty rock and allowed myself a congratulatory 4-swallow chug from my near-empty water bottle. Soon the crepuscular sky was all but drained of light. I have no idea what came of the several people behind me, who fell out of my sight and must have been still climbing as the rapid cold of evening took hold of the region.
But as I was about 20 minutes from the top, I’d seen a second Peruvian guy walking two other mules down the trail….into a canyon of approaching darkness. I could only guess that he makes money by rescuing exhausted, grateful foreigners on this trail every day. Clever business model.
I ate dinner at the hotel, voraciously. Vegetable soup, two halves of an avocado stuffed with beets and chicken cubes (I scraped off the mayonnaise), and then a plate of lasagna. One huge Cusqueña beer, and one glass of marginal house wine. And now I’m at the hotel’s only computer terminal with another beer.
Cost be damned, I’m eating & drinking whatever the hell I want tonight.
Goodnight from Cabanaconde,
Paul
Sep
Just arrived in Cucso, the hilly city nearest Machu Picchu, this morning via overnight bus from Arequipa, in Peru’s canyon country to the southwest. Cusco is quite pretty in the early, early a.m.
I’m waiting for my room to be ready here at Hotel Marani, full of Dutch, Danes and Germs & Aussies….curiously not a Frenchie to be heard or seen in the breakfast area or in the hotel logbook. The hotel is at the top of a narrow, winding cobblestone street just off Plaza San Blas, overlooking the city….a city probably overrun with gringos y otro extranjeros como yo.
But there’s comfy armchairs, semi-cheesy “Andean” flute musicwafting about, weak instant coffee served in pleasant faux-Inca red-clay mugs, and a strong, free wifi signal. What more could a roadmonkey want before 8am?
Breakfast, perhaps. But that can wait. I have dried apricots and plenty of mixed nuts from the supermarket in Arequipa to keep me energized.
- Paul
Sep
Friday, Sept. 4, was my last day as a staff reporter for The New York Times. I left the paper after nearly 11 years to put my full energy into making Roadmonkey the premier adventure philanthropy outfitter.
The goals is to create something new, not copy something else. Check out all the best photos and videos of Roadmonkey expeditions to date, and become a fan of the Facebook page that the above link connects you to (there is no Facebook login required).
Life is a series of chapters. One chapter has now closed — mostly…I may do some freelance for the New York Times from various parts of the world.
Another chapter is now opening, boldly and quickly. Let us see how the story goes.
- Paul
Aug
We at Roadmonkey enjoy a long, irreverent laugh. This article in The Onion that was too funny to not post….
Socialites Without Borders Teach Rwandans How To Mingle
August 25, 2009
KIGALI, RWANDA—In an effort to provide relief to a people devastated by civil war, genocide, and poverty, members of the humanitarian aid group Socialites Without Borders spent several hours this week teaching destitute Rwandans how to mingle.
Volunteers are hopeful future generations may one day know how to properly lift a champagne flute.“These poor souls, there’s so much we can do to help to them,” said Tinsley Rothschild, an event planner for the non-profit organization, while surveying the country’s bleak and arid landscape. “Just look around, there’s nothing here: no hors d’oeuvres, no towering ice sculptures, nothing. Nobody should have to live like this.”
“I bet most of these people have never even seen a Bellini, let alone know how to sip one,” Rothschild continued. “Unless we do something fast, these men and women stand no chance of surviving a high-society dinner party.”
Arriving on private jets from their headquarters in Martha’s Vineyard, volunteers from Socialites Without Borders touched down in northern Rwanda early Sunday morning. Following an extravagant luncheon held in their honor, the charitable luminaries were driven by limousine to a nearby refugee camp, where they provided impoverished villagers with emergency lessons in everything from making small talk, to name-dropping, to drastically improving one’s life by marrying a wealthy steel magnate.
“Always remember to keep things light and breezy when mingling,” Danielle Watters, a real estate heiress, was overheard advising a group of war-ravaged amputees. “Talk about where you recently summered, or what boarding school you went to. When you feel at a loss for words, perhaps try remarking on the stunning architecture of the tent you’re in.”
Ordinary Rwandans have been urged to put aside any latent tribal hostility and never forget to place water goblets to the left of red wine glasses.While the outreach program stresses the fundamentals of being a warm and friendly host, the socialites were reportedly concerned when several Rwandan villagers failed to make eye contact, exchange pleasantries, or offer flattering compliments when prompted. More disturbing was the apparent lack of effort shown by many of the emaciated citizens to appear fascinated by the conversations going on around them.
“What I witnessed was appalling,” said Adelina Thornton, an accomplished equestrian, who was moved to tears by the sight of a young orphaned child dressed in horizontal stripes. “Not a single person expressed any interest whatsoever in how long our estate has been in the family.”
Added Thornton, “The people here are even worse off than we could have imagined.”
Despite initial concerns, volunteers reported that some progress was made by Monday afternoon, with many pointing to the look of elation and joy on the faces of several men and women moments after being shown the proper way to hold stemware. In addition, the fact that many Rwandans seemed to already know how to speak French seemed promising, if nothing else.
Still, sources said, the work ahead of them was astronomical.
“That is not how we eat a deviled egg,” said volunteer Yvonne Chantecaille, playfully knocking the protein-rich appetizer from an elderly villager’s hand. “We do not gobble it up. We savior the complexity of flavor profiles, and leave the garnish around it alone.”
“Also, we do not bring up how a senseless genocide ravaged our family, leaving scores of dead as far as the eye can see,” Chantecaille added. “Not even over dessert.”
Due to Rwanda’s widespread unemployment and limited access to basic necessities such as food and clean water, Socialites Without Borders made it their top priority to rebuild the nation’s confidence. The volunteers reportedly boosted the self-esteem of poor Rwandan farmers by referring to them as “organic agriculture tycoons,” while women suffering from Hepatitis A were touched up with foundation to conceal their jaundiced appearance.
“See—all better now,” said Roberta Furlein, wife of steel magnate Michael Furlein, applying makeup to the face of a sickly Rwandan woman. “A little bit of color was all you needed.”
Furlein, who has donated more than $20 million to improve living accommodations for Columbia University students, blamed the sub-Saharan nation’s education system and illiteracy rate for many of its current problems.
“Reading is so important to bettering yourself,” Furlein said. “No one here seems to ever look at New York Times style section, or even Vogue for that matter.”
Added Furlein, “It’s scary, but I don’t think people here even knew who we were.” 
Aug
On Aug. 20, ABC News interviewed Roadmonkey founder Paul von Zielbauer, who badly needs a haircut, about Roadmonkey’s brand of physically challenging, culturally engaging, hands-on adventure philanthropy in Vietnam, Tanzania, Nicaragua, Peru and…soon…Cuba.
If anyone knows how to swap the goofy “intro” image of Paul on the screen above with a different, less dorky image from this same interview, please call +1-917-319-8070 immediately.
Thank you.
Aug
Laugh now. Pay later.
Collywobbles, n. / KALL ee wob ulls / Intestinal distress characterized by cramping and diarrhea.
Jul
British newspaper columnists have gone frothy mad over the Chugger explosion
Over food and drinks yesterday with book agent and mujer fabulosa Madeleine Morel, I learned a new word: Chugger.
Chugger, as Madeleine explained in her droll manner, a sweating glass of Sancerre in her hand, is what you get by compressing “charity mugger” into two syllables.
And, she added, a chugger is one of those people you constantly find on the sidewalks of Manhattan — and maybe also San Fran, Chicago and even L.A., if L.A. had “sides” where people actually “walked” — who stand around with clipboards waiting to mug passers by on behalf of some charitable cause. Thus, the slightly derisive appellation, Chugger.
I don’t find them too annoying, actually. Partly because I don’t find them too often, and because I live in Brooklyn, where fewer Chuggers roam the broken concrete in search of tax-deductible donations.
So thanks to Madeleine Morel at Bookhaven. That was a good one.
Almost as good as Gongoozler. Which the book, “Depraved and Insulting English,” by Peter Novobatzky and Ammon Shea, defines thusly:
Gongoozler. / gon GOOZ ler / a dimwit who stares at unusual things.
Come to think of it, I may frequently veer into gongoozler territory, myself.
By the way, this post has nothing to do with Roadmonkey, adventure philanthropy, or our upcoming cycling & farm-building expedition to Vietnam in November.
Be kind to Chuggers. They obviously believe in what they’re doing enough to risk scorn, abuse and, worst of all, indifference.
Paul
paul@roadmonkey.net
Jul
Vietnam 2008: Roadmonkey expedition co-leader Brent Wexler & new semi-friend.
When I launched Roadmonkey last year, some people told me to change the name. “I can’t see CNN or ABC News doing a segment about a company called ‘Roadmonkey’,” one person in the PR business told me.
Well, he turned out to be wrong.
But other people asked, and rightfully so, what “adventure philathropy” was supposed to mean. It’s a long, gangly phrase, after all, that combines two words that are well known on their own but not exactly comfortable when enclosed together in quotation marks.
Adventure philanthropy. It also doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Yet I named my company after this idea. Why?
Because, for one, I liked the idea of bringing the idea of old-school philanthropy – with its musty image of wealthy people sitting in parlors with fireplaces deciding how to dispense millions of dollars to charity – back to the common woman and man, where it belongs. As Roadmonkey expeditions to Vietnam and Tanzania have proven, anyone can become an adventure philanthropist, if they have the gumption, fortitude and curiosity to get out into the world and get their hands a little dirty.
Also, for-profit adventure travel companies were more or less invented in the 1960s, when no one knew if people would pay you to take them on ass-kicking adventures in foreign lands where – get this – almost no one speaks English. And by spring 2008, when I launched the Roadmonkey website, it was high time to push the adventure travel paradigm to the next level: Adventure philanthropy. I hope that in 20 years the phrase will be as much of a no-brainer as “adventure travel” is now.
Finally, can you think of a shorter word for philanthropy? If I could have, I would have used it. (Adventure Volunteering is even longer.)
But I’m open to suggestions, comments, criticisms, ridicule, derision, verbal threats, encomia and cheeseburgers.
More from the road, which will include Roadmonkey scouting trips to Nicaragua and Peru in July & August, soon.
- Paul
