Talking Travel with Javatrekker Dean Cycon

Dean Cycon is an activist and entrepreneur who has been working with indigenous communities in the coffeelands for over twenty years. His all-organic, all-Fair Trade, all-kosher coffee roaster company, Dean’s Beans, follows sustainable business principals and is a recognized industry leader in its’ commitment to Fair Trade.

According to Cycon, 99 percent of people involved in the coffee economy have never visited a coffee village. In his new book, Javatrekker: Dispatches from the World of Fair Trade Coffee, Dean invites coffee drinkers to follow him on a journey to remote farming communities in Africa, Asia and the Americas. His compelling stories are a collection of varied experiences — of cultural anthropology, business philosophy and adventure travel — that reveal a unique perspective on the people who make our morning cups possible.

With Fair Trade Month upon us, it seemed the perfect time to chat with this intrepid explorer. Dean was kind enough to answer questions for Gadling about his travels through the coffeelands, his thoughts on tourism in these regions, and his personal travel aspirations. Our Talking Travel interview touches on everything from rare coins to a cameo movie appearance. Read on to learn more about this fascinating coffee pioneer:
Where did the concept of “Javatrekking” originate?

I actually created the term. I was looking for a word to describe the recent phenomenon of people going to the coffeelands for more than just buying beans, but rather to engage in the lives and issues of the people who grow coffee around the world.

Before you began Javatrekking, you worked as a lawyer with indigenous groups both in the US and abroad. Could you have imagined that this is where life after law school would lead you?

No, but I have never believed in the plotted course. My philosophy is to be true to a set of values and behaviors, and the way that manifests in world and experience will unfold. So although I never would have predicted where my life has led me, looking back it makes perfect sense!

Your first encounter with coffee farmers was in a Guatemalan village. What implications did that meeting have for your business and the community development projects you support?

During that first visit, I saw that child sponsorship and the current model of development weren’t really about change, they were more about “maintenance”. Well-intentioned individuals and companies would give money for small projects, but they wouldn’t change their buying practices or other behaviors, so the underlying dynamics of poverty in those villages would never change. At the same time, the organizations that did the projects would move on in a year or so, and the project would slowly unravel, leaving the people less trusting of us and back where they started.

The countless coffee communities you have visited each have a unique culture, language and people. But because they all deal in the same commodity, a common thread links their stories. What universal characteristics have you discovered in your travels to these diverse regions?

The most wonderful thing about Javatrekking is that at the end of the day, behind all the cultural and linguistic differences, we all want the same things. In my conversations with farmers and their families in every country, what always comes up? The desire to feed their families and educate their kids. It is also quite basic — farmers need clean water, or in some places, any water; they need safety from conflict and the tools to resolve conflicts peacefully. We all desire at heart the same things: food, housing, safe communities, respect, education and opportunity. When we can understand that we all share the same basic human needs, the differences fall away.

In your book, you mention Pana, Guatemala as one place that reflects the “commodification of indigenous culture.” Can you share some thoughts about how tourism influences areas where coffee communities are located?

Tourism is an influx of culture and values. In that way you can see it as parallel to an invasion. When people flood an area with money, demands for treatment and services that don’t exist or are at odds with local behaviors, there can be quite a disturbance. This is nothing new and has been going on since Adam and Eve moved to suburbia. It can also be a very positive force if managed well. Fortunately, coffee communities tend to be rather isolated, so the early waves of tourism — the more destructive types — never really made it up the mountains. As a result, many coffee communities are only now looking to eco-tourism to supplement their coffee incomes. There are good management structures in place at the cooperatives I deal with, so they are better prepared to manage tourism so as to minimize the more destructive aspects of the trade.

How with many languages do you speak or have been exposed to during your travels? And how do you manage communication barriers when doing business?

I speak Spanish fairly well, Japanese, Portuguese less so. I am studying Indonesian and have been exposed to about fifty different languages. Interestingly, the majority of coffee farmers around the world do not speak the national language of their countries, rather, they speak their own indigenous language. I always try and learn basic words in the most remote languages as a sign of my respect for the people and the culture I am visiting. For an American to speak even two words of Oromifa in Ethiopia or Gayo in Indonesia changes their perception of us and makes for a very friendly visit each time. A little respect goes a long way.

Members of indigenous communities around the world know you as Mr. Bean. But is it true that your adventures have also earned you the title of “The Puking Pirate of Tortuga”?

I was a special extra in Pirates of the Caribbean III, where my few seconds of fame were throwing up after Johnny Depp and his two floozies walked by me on the docks of Tortuga. It has been enough to make me a big time star in the communities I visit, and funny to be introduced that way to an indigenous community in Amazonian Peru, none of whose members will ever see the film (and finally a community that has never heard of Johnny Depp!)

You’ve revealed that you “have an insatiable desire to visit ancient trade ports and search for treasures” and in the book share tales about visits to markets in search of rare coins. How big is your collection? And do you have a favorite discovery story to share?

I have a growing collection of ancient maps, coins and travel narratives, largely focused on the early European-Asian spice (and coffee) trade. Sometimes at night I just take out an old Dutch East Indies Company chart of the Spice Islands, hold a few ancient trade coins in my hand and sail away into another era. Once I was in Malacca, the first European colony in the Far East (the Portuguese captured it in 1511). I was rummaging around the many junk shops that line Jonker’s Street (the old Dutch name for “Gentlemen”) and I found two small coins. They were Portuguese, dated 1511! They had been recovered from the harbor when the city dredged it to make way for more apartment buildings. There I was, holding in my hand some pocket change from one of the sailors who captured Malacca. Maybe it fell from the pocket of Alfonso d’Albuquerque himself!

When you are not trekking through the coffeelands, what other places do you enjoy traveling to?

Actually, I am a real ocean freak. I love to go sailing (especially if I can hitch a ride on native craft!) My next gig after coffee will be to recreate the early spice trade on fair trade terms, and then to do the equivalent of Javatrekking with indigenous fishing communities around the world. I dream of the South Pacific and the amazing islands off Indonesia, many of which have rarely had western visitors. I can’t wait to get a tattoo there!

What travel tips can you share with coffee-drinkers who spend much of their time on the go? How can they make smart bean-buying decisions when traveling?

It’s very difficult to find a good cup of coffee in the coffeelands. Most restaurants serve the ubiquitous “Nes” as instant coffee is called. Brazil and Ethiopia lead the pack, followed closely by El Salvador in offering good coffee in remote locations. You will find ancient hand-pumped espresso machines throughout the Ethiopian countryside where the baristas are ragged boys who can outpull the best Europeans. There is a real push going on to increase in-country consumption of coffee and improve quality overall, but when you stop and think about it, it is still hard to find a decent cup of coffee in many parts of the USA, including many big cities!

All royalties from your Javatrekking book will go back to the coffee farmers. What specific initiatives will the money support, or will it just be split equally among the communities you partner with?

My intention is to share it equally among the coops mentioned in the book. I make enough money off their coffee, I don’t need to make money off their lives as well. My experience is that each group will use the money in the way that best suits their need. Some will distribute it directly to members, some will add it to their women’s loan funds or health care programs, others will pay a teacher’s salary with it.

You’ve said that “Javatrekking is ultimately about personal and societal exploration.” Can you share some final thoughts on what the Javatrekking journey has meant for you?

Javatrekking has allowed me to manifest my highest values into action, and have a great time doing it. It has also allowed me to prove what I set out to when I founded Dean’s Beans – that a business could be a positive force for social change in the lives of the people it touched, and still be profitable. Business is the largest engine of activity on the planet. Until businesses change their fundamental ways of being in the world, nothing will really change.

You can learn more about Javatrekking from publisher Chelsea Green and watch videos of Dean’s global coffee adventures. He’ll be appearing at these events through the fall.

Band on the Run: Soaking in Solarfest in Vermont

There’s not a lot of places more chilled out and easygoing than a festival in Vermont on a beautiful July weekend that runs on solar power and promotes alternative energy and environmental solutions. It’s called Solarfest: The New England Renewable Energy Festival. Going there makes me want to just sprawl on the grass and watch the clouds overhead while simultaneously saving the world.

It can be done! Resting fuels the fight, I feel. And celebrating further fans the flames. Clouds keep us just as informed as anything… and watching clouds clears my head — funny how cloudiness offer clarity — which is just the state of mind needed to tackle the next step in any process. But maybe it’s the sunshine around the clouds that really soaks in and helps us lighten up for a while? (Okay, I’ll stop this metaphoric meandering now and just tell you about the festival!)

Besides the chance to consider our part in the movement for change that is upon us, the music at this festival is always a bonus. This is our third time performing here over the years and it’s always inspiring to take in the rest of the acts. Whoever chooses them has some eclectic and interesting musical taste, for sure, (Break of Reality were amazing!) and I’m thrilled that we’ve been among the artists to provide the score for this event – an occasion I support, wholeheartedly.

Solarfest takes place on a farm in a small town called Tinmouth, Vermont, just a couple hours south of Burlington. It’s in its thirteenth year, I was told, and it’s still very casual, very alive, very non-corporate and staying that way. Someone commented to me later that they were shocked that it was still so (relatively) small after thirteen years — I think there are a just a few thousand attendees over the weekend, if that — and I responded that I thought it was perfect this way.

And I do.

Why should festivals aspire to exponential growth? Yes, it’s good to grow in terms of widespread knowledge; we want people to know about solar energy, alternative fuels, how to make soap by hand without the nasty chemicals, etc. But, this notion that growing in a linear fashion until you’re so big that you need to move locations, hire outside security companies, solicit corporate sponsors and hang plastic banners all over the stage is just, well, counter-intuitive. It’s good to know that people want to come to events like this one, but so too is the natural turnover of people so that new faces replace old ones and that the festival is fresh but still manageable in terms of size.

Sustainable. That’s the ultimate goal. Success. Locally.

Musicians aspire to this kind of linear growth too, imaging that if they sell five hundred copies of their CD one year that the following year they ought to sell at least five hundred and one copies. There is a lot of cultural support for the notion of “more” growth as if it equals “better” when we all know that these two ideas are not often linked – at least, not anymore.

Festivals like this one promotes the notion of a natural cycle of things: the ebbs and flows, mountains and valleys, moments of prosperity followed by wondering where the next dollar will come from. Ultimately, this creates a balance which brings us sustainability. Something living and breathing. Organic and alive. Not just a bar graph rising towards the sky and never looking down on the grounded state from which is began.

For my garden at my house, I never ask it to grow bigger and bigger with every year. In fact, I want it to reach a sustainable and healthy growth level and then remain. I will tend it and it will yield. The next year, I will do the same. All told, the house will be fed by this garden and the garden will never take over the house.

That’s sustainability.

In this same way, Solarfest is a sustainable festival that is not being taken over by its own growth. It has been at its current location for the past few years and it’s nestled sweetly on a farm with hills that roll upwards on the perfect angle from the barn, half of which is transformed into a stage and backstage area. This hill creates a natural amphitheatre and holds the colourful blankets and chairs of hundreds of chilled out people angling smiles towards the lights.

Backstage, the barn swallows swoop overhead and come in and out through the open upper windows of the barn. As the evening rolls in, the stage lights cast an eerie glow on the interior of the barn and the jerky movement of those swallow wings create a natural strobe effect, flickering the lights and casting trippy shadows. You can see the hay stacked high on the far side where performer’s gear is piled; amps upon amps separated by similarly shaped and sized squares of hay just beyond the tarp.

I love it. I smiled at it all and took it all in.

Just before our performance on the Saturday early evening, I took a walk around the grounds. As in previous years, I was moved by the displays and vendors. There were innovative greenhouse designers, book vendors for little known or hard-to-find publications, vegan and non-GMO food suppliers, hemp clothing vendors, kid’s craft areas, etc.

Everyone was smiling. Kids were running around freely and safely. Sunhats were bobbing on the heads of older women walking gently through the grass holding their skirts above their ankles. Men with babies strapped to their chests. Lots of bare feet and beads.

I stopped for awhile and listened to Bill McKibben speak. He was on stage just before us with just himself and a microphone. He is a published author (many times over) and his most recent book is called Deep Economy: The Wealth of Communities and the Durable Future. He spoke about the economy of things like support, kindness, belief. He was natural and articulate and he made the audience both laugh and think without sounding pedantic or heavy.

Before the end of his talk, I went backstage again to make sure my equipment was all ready and that we were together as a band. I was cradling my guitar and warming up when the audience cheered for his words and the MC took back the microphone to signal a break between sets.

When Bill walked off the stage and through the backstage area, he smiled down at his feet and just sauntered off. It was self-effacing without being under confident. Is that possible? Perhaps I just saw raw humility. It made me stop for a moment and just stare off and wonder. It made me want to read his books.

I didn’t see him again for the rest of the festival, but I imagine he was there somewhere. At least, his words were.

They have staying power.

As does this festival.