Maldives Social Media Campaign Backfires

by Libby Zay on

When the Maldives Tourism Board urged fans of the islands to help make their tourism slogan, “The Sunny Side of Life,” a global trend on Thursday, the campaign backfired. Instead of spreading positive words about the tropical paradise, tweets about police brutality and political illegitimacy spread like wildfire.

The social media campaign, which aimed to make the hashtag #SunnySideofLife a global trend, kicked off on the tourism board’s Twitter account, @myvisitmaldives, with this simple tweet: “Maldives has been awarded as the Most Romantic Destination in the World #SunnySideofLife.”

Readers, most of whom seem to be Maldivian citizens, shot back with some words of their own. Here is a sampling of some of the choice words they had:

  • #SunnySideofLife where a resort owner withhold staff salary, but spends millions to BUY a seat in parliament!!
  • Evening plans? I’m joining the protest after work.. can’t stand to watch fellow citizens being beaten by the police #SunnySideofLife
  • #Maldives not paradise for its people. Brutal coup regime suppressing our rights to freedom of expression & assembly. #SunnySideofLife
  • ThankU Coup Government of Maldives for #SunnySideofLife event. We’ll make sure to pass your acts of brutality to Twittersphere.
  • #SunnySideOfLife: Pristine white sandy beaches, crystal clear lagoons filled with blood of its citizens who are fighting for democracy
  • Visit the only place where ur tourism dollar will facilitate coup makers to persecute its people in the #sunnysideoflife

Other tweets included pictures of alleged victims of police brutality, participants in political protests and more. Most of the tweets were aimed at the current government, which was installed after President Mohamed Nasheed was ousted last February. Nasheed, one of the founders of the Maldivian Democratic Party who is well respected by the people of the Maldives, claims he was forced to resign at gunpoint and is calling on his successor, Mohamed Waheed, to resign immediately and hold elections.

When all is said and done, the tourism board did reach their goal of making #SunnySideofLife a global trend. Tweets featuring the hashtag are still filtering in, but few of them actually boast about the redeeming qualities of the islands. What’s more, the campaign just-so-happens to coincide with a United Nations hearing that centers on the status of human rights in the Maldives.

Readers, weigh in; do you think the tourism board should have thought out the timing of the campaign’s launch a little more? And does anyone who has been to the Maldives recently have something to share?

[Photo by muha…, Flickr]

Vagabond Tales: Shady Back-Room Deals With Questionable Thai Gangsters

by Kyle Ellison on

There is a Nikon camera lens on the ocean floor between the Thai islands of Phuket and Koh Phi Phi.

No, I didn’t see it while scuba diving with leopard sharks in the warm waters of the Andaman Sea (I swear they sneak right up on you). I know it’s there because I put it there – with my foot.

Despite my knack for getting off the beaten path, the ferry ride from Phuket to Koh Phi Phi is not one of those moments. In fact, it’s about one of the most heavily trafficked tourist routes in all of Thailand. When boarding the overcrowded ferry between Phuket and Koh Phi Phi, it seems as if every alcohol loving, sex-searching, half-dreadlocked backpacker from Melbourne to Montreal is crammed on board right next to you.

For those not familiar with the Thai islands, if you’re looking for isolation and relaxation, go to an island like Koh Mak. If you find yourself heading for Koh Phi Phi, there’s a good chance you’re looking to get weird.

Crammed onto the small ferry with about 150 other backpackers, my wife and I were squeezed over to the port side of the vessel where we were forced to sit on the outside of the boat with our legs dangling over the side – questionable seating at best, yet strangely romantic.

Leaving the resort-lined shores of Phuket behind, we marveled as Thai long-tail boats darted through the turquoise waters. A little over halfway into the two-hour crossing, the lush, limestone formations, which provide the backdrop of Koh Phi Phi, began to become visible on the tropical horizon.

“Hand me the wide-angle lens,” chimed my wife, the ever-talented photographer of us two. “I want to get some shots as we come around the corner of the island.”Reaching for the camera bag, which houses our various lenses, I handed my wife the wide-angle and watched as she removed the 18-55mm lens and placed it in her lap. Then, in a moment of horror, I watched as that same lens decided to roll down her legs and fresh off the side of the vessel.

Instead of opting to reach down with my hand to try and catch the lens, I opted instead to try and trap it against the side of the boat with my bare foot. All I accomplished, however, was managing to catch the lens with the top of my foot and punt it 25 feet into the rolling blue water below.

Goodnight, sweet prince. May you rest peacefully in your watery grave.

For the next two weeks we were forced to take photos of the southern Thai islands with either an ultra-wide angle lens or a 200mm zoom, because as you might imagine, there aren’t many places selling Nikon lenses in the Thai islands. If we wanted to take photos, we could still do so, but only from about a half mile away.

“Great photo. Stay right there. I’m just going to go and perch myself in that tree across the ravine. Be back in 45.” That sort of thing. Since we still had two months left on the trip, which would take us across Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam, this camera situation simply wasn’t going to do.

This is why we were so enthralled to find a cheap lens advertised online at an obscure camera store up in Bangkok. We would be passing through Bangkok in a few weeks, and the owner, Alak, had actually responded to our email and said that he had the exact lens that we needed. Furthermore, since it was a part of a floor set, he could offer it to us at a steep discount.

Under the table, if you will.

Which is how we ended up in an odd corner of Chinatown in a remote corner of Bangkok searching for a hole-in-the-wall camera shop and a mysterious Thai man named Alak. After about four failed attempts at asking for directions we sauntered sweaty and starving into a camera store that sold everything from tripods to lens cleaners to fancy looking surveillance systems.

From the look of things, if there was anywhere this deal was going to go down, it was here.

Eying the shifty man behind the counter, and not knowing whether to verbally strike with Thai or Mandarin, I opted for the former.

“Sa-wa-tee-kraup,” I offered, completely butchering the language in the process, “Ummm… Alak? Nikon? Email? Kyle?” Apparently, in addition to my poor Thai, I had also managed to butcher my own language.

A tense three seconds of silence passed in which the thinly bearded gentleman appeared to stare into my soul. I immediately felt uncomfortable, which is strange, because I was only in a camera shop.

Finally, he spoke.

“You come with me,” he hastily barked in English as we walked towards the back of the store. “You see Alak.”

Peeling back a blanket, which covered a clandestine exit from the shop, we followed the clerk into a backroom with chicken wire over the windows and shelves filled with various curios.

There was something weird about this, but I didn’t know why. All I knew was I was in the back room of a shady store in Bangkok in a neighborhood where I had the funny feeling that laws were merely guidelines.

Finally, Alak entered. He was tall, dark haired and had an intimidating presence about him. Another smaller man accompanied him in the backroom. There were now three of them to the two of us. Why did this feel so strange?

“Hi, Alak,” I nervously stammered. “I’m Kyle, we had emailed about a Nikon lens that you could get us for a good price. A special price.”

Without saying anything Alak turned around and rifled through the shelves. In the distance I could hear a siren. Looking to my left, a child had silently materialized in the blanket-covered entryway. He looked at us but made no noise. I smiled. He stared.

Eventually Alak placed a brown cardboard box on the table and mimicked for me to remove the lens. I did, and it was the exact one we wanted. I checked the size, I checked the glass for scratches, and I wondered why he was selling it for so cheap.

“You like?” Alak finally sneered, the lone hair on his chin quivering from the breeze coming through the far window.

“I want to make sure it works,” I replied. Then, to my wife, “hand me the bag.”

Reaching for our camera bag – which is specially designed to look just like a backpack – I unzipped the casing and removed our Nikon camera body. Breathing deeply, one of Alak’s cronies loudly cracked his knuckles.

Stroking the lens and attaching it to the camera body, I listened as it clicked into place without a hitch.

I suddenly knew why I felt so weird. This had all the makings of a backroom arms deal going down in a misty, backroom den in the Orient. I played the part of the undercover CIA operative and Alak the unsuspecting dealer who used his camera store in Chinatown as a front.

The stock lens was now my silencer, the camera body my automatic weapon. I suddenly felt the urge to have a briefcase full of money and a drinking problem. It was all too surreal.

“3,000 baht,” Alak suddenly declared. It was a price higher than what we’d discussed.

“That’s not the price we agreed upon, Alak. You said you could get this to us for 2,000. Remember, special price.”

Squinting his eyes and conversing with his cronies, Alak returned with his counter offer of 2,400. What he didn’t know was that he had us in his hands. This was the cheapest – and only – lens that we could find in all of Thailand at this price.

“2,250 or we leave right now.” This operative was playing hardball.

Exchanging cash in the backroom we pocketed our lens and got out of there as quickly as possible.

“Did that feel weird to you?” I asked my wife.

“No, why?”

“You didn’t feel like we were undercover operatives during the Cold War purchasing a black market silencer that was recently smuggled out of Iran?”

I was met only with a blank and curious stare. “It was a camera store with a sweet little old man,” she finally reasoned. “You’re weird.”

Hailing a pedicab in a narrow alleyway beneath a sky of swinging red lanterns, I couldn’t shake the feeling we’d just mingled with shady Thai gangsters. Sliding into a two-seated tuk-tuk, we honked our way out of Chinatown and into the pulsing Thai night.

Want more travel stories? Read the rest of the “Vagabond Tales” over here.

Video Of The Day: Rail Company Spreads Happiness Through Japan

by Libby Zay on

To announce the launch of a new rail line, the Kyushu Rail Company loaded one of its bullet trains with cameras and sent it speeding through Japan. Onlookers came out in droves to catch sight of the train, which linked Japan’s southernmost island to the mainland for the first time. They dressed in a rainbow of colors and waved, danced and smiled as the train went by (the Power Rangers even made an appearance; look for them in the video). The rail company had caught something special: an unscripted, bubbly video that showed varied landscape and happy people of Japan. But what the marketers at the rail company didn’t realize was that the commercial was set to air the very day of the horrific 2011 earthquake in Japan.

Kyushu immediately pulled the two-minute celebratory commercial from the air. But after a month or so of unbearable news about the nearly 16,000 fatalities and the 3,000 plus who still remained missing, the company decided to air the commercial. It immediately became an immediate phenomenon; viewers literally shed tears of joy when they saw the smiling faces across the island. The commercial shows the united power of the country, and most importantly made the grieving nation smile. Today, almost a year and a half after the earthquake, the video is still a morale booster.

The Burmese Bad Boys Of Mandalay: The Mustache Brothers

by David Farley on

I was lost. Well, not “lost” as in I-can’t-find-way-home lost, but in that way where you suddenly find yourself in such unfamiliar territory, you just feel like you’ve stepped into another dimension. I knew I was in Myanmar, the country still sometimes referred to as Burma. And I knew I was in Mandalay, the second largest city in the country. I was traipsing through a street fair when I happened upon a booth selling posters. Next to images of the Chinese version of Justin Bieber (or is Justin Bieber the American version of this guy?) were displayed posters of Aung San Suu Kyi, the Nobel Peace Prize recipient and the main thorn in the ruling junta’s side.

I took a picture of it. And then someone said to me, in English, “Be careful.” I knew what he meant. After all, this was Burma. Government agents, I’d been told, may or may not be shadowing tourists like me.

Displaying pictures of Aung San Suu Kyi – who has served several stints under house arrest but was recently elected to Parliament – was verboten a year ago. Now they’re nearly ubiquitous. Still, though, despite the recent changes in the country, this is an isolated land. Decades of totalitarian rule by the Burmese military have left the country in a freeze of sorts. There are no Starbucks or McDonalds in Mandalay or Yangon, the city formerly known as Rangoon. Cellphones from abroad don’t work, so visitors who want to get any kind of reception have to fork over heaps of cash to buy a SIM card. And it has to be cash, as there are no ATMs in this land. You can’t buy an iPhone or a BlackBerry but you can score a Chinese-made knockoff called a Black Jerry (I’m not kidding) for about $100.

The country is so insolated that kids walk around wearing T-shirts emblazed with the Nazi swastika (or, as you see from this pic I took, on the back pocket of their jeans). They’re not Nazis. Nor do they necessarily hate Jews. As one local told me: “People here somehow believe the swastika is a symbol of modern Germany and have no idea of its connection to the Nazis.” With this kind of information control – or, rather, lack of information available to the populace – is it any surprise that after George Orwell spent five years in Burma, he went on to write 1984? Answer: not at all.

I wasn’t just aimlessly wandering around Mandalay. I was on my way to a show. But this was no ordinary show. Meet the Mustache Brothers. They consist of mustached siblings Par Par Lay and Lu Maw, and their barefaced cousin, Lu Zaw. Every night of the year they put on a show for tourists in their garage-cum-theater that’s something like a mix between vaudeville, folk dancing and the type of show you see on cable access at 3 a.m. and wonder the next morning if that was for real or if what you had been smoking was just really potent stuff.


I walked down a dim alleyway and then made a left down an even darker hallway before being spilled out into the 25-seat performance space in a garage. It was occupied exclusively by foreign tourists, mostly lumpy looking northern Europeans. The reason? Par Par Lay and Lu Maw have both served time in prison for openly criticizing the government. After their release, in 2002, they were banned from touring around the country doing shows for the Burmese. So, they set up shop in their home and now only perform for tourists.

“It’s the tourists and the international attention the audience brings,” Lu Maw said when I introduced myself before the show. “This protects us from the government. ” And then he asked if I would please write about them for my blog. I didn’t tell him I had a blog. Nor did I say what I do for my job. I figured he just assumed everyone in the West has a blog these days.

Lu Maw began the show with rambling banter punctuated by political jokes. Example:

A Burmese man goes to a dentist in Thailand. And before the dentist examines the Burmese man’s teeth, he asks: why did you come all the way to Thailand to see a dentist.

“Because,” the Burmese man says, “in Burma we’re not allowed to open our mouths.”

“We’re not afraid of getting arrested anymore. Thank you Aung San Suu Kyi and Secretary Clinton,” Lu Maw said to the audience. He said the current international focus on Myanmar means the government has to act very carefully now. Though he did concede: “The New president? He’s a new bottle, same wine.”

Somehow during the show they managed to reference Ashton Kutcher, Bruce Willis, Al Pacino and Rambo. They held up hand-painted signs scrawled with phrases to emphasize a point or as the punchline to a joke – “Back Door Man” and “Whoop It Up,” for example. Other times, Par Par Lay would sit around in chains, looking not unlike some kind of circus sideshow act, referencing the time he was a political prisoner (see photo above). In other skits, the entire family took part. Wives and kids danced. There were costume changes. There was some hollering. In the end, it wasn’t the best show I’d ever seen. But that’s not at all the point. That they’re even performing, saying the things they’re saying – in public – in a land where getting imprisoned for the words you choose to use, is the point. And I was happy to support it.

After the show, just before the 25 or so of us shuffled out, Lu Maw hollered: “Don’t forget to write about us on your blogs.

It was a promise I said I would keep.

Rabies Pre-Exposure Vaccine: Will Not Getting One Come Back To Bite You In The Butt?

by Laurel Miller on

Recently, a well-traveled friend of mine, whom I’ll call Jules, went to Belize on vacation. While on an idyllic, live-aboard sailing trip, Jules, her husband, and mother decided to explore some cays by sea kayak. What happened next is one of my worst developing nation nightmares.

While poking around what appeared to be an abandoned cay (this is why poking sans guide isn’t recommended, but few true travelers can resist), two semi-feral dogs “jumped out from beneath an overturned rowboat, barking ferociously.” Jules explains, “They were tied up, and we immediately headed back to our kayaks, when we saw a man. He told us the cay was ‘privado (private),’ and I started apologizing in Spanish as we pointed at our kayaks and picked up our pace. The next thing I knew, one of the dogs was let loose, and barreling after us. I started to run, and it bit the back of my right calf.”

The dog released her leg after Jules’ husband waved his arms at it while yelling, “NO, NO, NO, NO!” Then it re-launched itself at her, so she employed the same tactic, and eventually they made their way to their boats and escaped.

As if this story isn’t harrowing enough, the really terrifying part is that they were 10 miles out to sea and had four days left aboard ship. Fortunately, Jules’ mom is a medical professional. Immediately following the attack, she soaked her leg in sea water to flush the wound, then her mom accessed their first-aid kit and cleaned it with hydrogen peroxide, and applied antibiotic ointment. For the remainder of the trip, her mother repeated this procedure, changing the bandages up to three times a day.

I asked Jules why she didn’t insist upon returning to land immediately and seeking medical treatment.

“That’s an emotionally hard question to answer,” she explained. “The dogs weren’t foaming at the mouth, they didn’t look rabid, but rather in aggressive/protective mode. My mother was on the boat with us and she nursed my wound and kept checking my vital signs for any dangerous symptoms. Luckily, nothing bad came of it. There were no clinics in Placenia where we were, so I made the decision to go to the hospital as soon as I returned home six days later.”

There, she was advised to get rabies shots, which had to be administered through the ER (general practitioners apparently won’t provide them). Jules said the series of four treatments – eight shots the first visit, and one per follow-up – was awful. “I got one in each shoulder, one in each upper thigh, one in my butt, and three directly into the wound. The serum they inject feels thick and made my blood feel sluggish. I couldn’t think clearly and needed to nap every day.” She also wasn’t up-to-date on her tetanus, so that was the first shot she received.

Since Jules is one of the most energetic people I know, the shots really affected her ability to work, and she had to take a number of sick days on top of her two weeks vacation. That, of course, is the least concern in this scenario, and I asked my infectious disease doctor, John Szumowski, a fellow at the University of Washington, what the best course of action would be in such a situation.

“Once a person has symptoms of rabies, there’s little that can be done,” he says. “Only a handful of persons have survived even with intensive care. But the rabies pre-exposure prophylaxis vaccine series is felt to be very effective if administered to a person who doesn’t have symptoms.”

I’ve been telling myself for years that I should get rabies prophylaxis (a series of three recommended vaccinations) because I’m in what’s considered a high-risk group when I travel. I have a lot of exposure to animals, and I spend extended periods in rural areas where a delay in medical evaluation is likely. Thus, it’s a safe generalization to say that most adventure travelers would do well to get the series, even if they’re not animal lovers (for the record, despite my crazy dog/cat lady tendencies, I usually give creatures in developing nations a wide berth for this reason). I know I’m going to do it before my next big trip.

Getting the series, says Dr. Szumowski, “Also allows for a simpler course of post-exposure prophylaxis following a bite: fewer vaccinations and immunoglobin (which may not be readily available or of good quality internationally) isn’t needed. The pre-exposure series is available in travel clinics, but can be easily given in a primary care setting, too. Clinics may not have it immediately available, so calling the office ahead of time is a good idea.”

Dr. Szumowski is quick to point out that getting the pre-exposure series does NOT mean medical evaluation should be skipped after an animal bite. Aside from rabies, bites can transmit other, primarily bacterial, infections. “Thorough cleansing of the bite site is an important step, regardless of vaccination status,” he adds. “Animal bites, even those that took place some time in the past, should be discussed with your medical provider because the incubation period for rabies can be up to years afterward.”

Need more compelling reasons for why adventure travelers should get pre-exposure shots? I’ve witnessed a puppy play-biting (drawing blood) a fellow traveler while we were visiting a Myanmar refugee camp in Thailand. I’ve seen a late-stage rabid dog staggering down the main street of a small village in Ecuador. I’ve been chased down an alleyway by a pack of mangy Vietnamese dogs, and had to scale a fence to escape. Gadling contributor Kyle Ellison has been chased by a dog while going for a run in a developing nation. I’ve been attacked and bitten two separate times by seemingly friendly cats here in the States, and still had to go to the ER, while animal control was required to quarantine and test the animals.

Rabies definitely isn’t limited to developing nations, nor is it restricted to dogs and cats. You should never get to close to wildlife, wherever you may be, for any number of safety reasons. But animals like raccoons, opossums, and bats are also frequent carriers of this deadly disease domestically.

For more information on rabies and other infectious diseases related to travel, the CDC’s Yellow Book is an excellent resource. And don’t let fear of rabies make you paranoid about indulging your fondness for animals when you travel.

Says Jules, “I’m an animal lover, and even after this horribly scary incident, I’ll continue to look for the wagging tails of approaching dogs. This was a minor blip on our trip, and will in no way stop me from continuing to see the world. It’s a part of traveling that makes us stop and re-evaluate taking precautions. We’re very protected in the U.S., and take that for granted. We need to respect the places that we visit and be our own advocates to protect ourselves and fellow travelers. From now on, I’ll also always consider travel insurance when visiting developing nations.”

[Photo credits: German shepherd, Flickr user State Farm; dog bite, Jules; dog, Laurel Miller]