Reading about Alexander von Humboldt’s scientific voyage in South America, I stumbled upon his Naturgemälde (“painting of nature”) which he drew after almost conquering the summit of Chimborazo in Ecuador in 1802.
It shows a cross section of Chimborazo, arguably the highest mountain in the world, with different vegetation zones. Hundreds, if not thousands of plants are listed in a lovingly detailed manner. (If you click on the photo, you can view an enormous resolution of 15,000 x 10,000. Now you only need a good printer, and you’ll have a beautiful poster for your living room.)
Plus information about altitude, air pressure, refraction, electrical appearances, humidity, soil quality and plenty of other scientific parameters that I never heard of. (What the heck is a cyanometer?) But it also lists useful information for hikers, like temperatures at different altitudes, the snow line and which animals live at what altitude. All of this is so rich in detail that you can get lost in the chart for hours.


So, Alexander von Humboldt not only
but on top of all of this,
One could call Naturgemälde the world’s first infographic. Actually, most infographics published today don’t come close to it with respect to information content, clarity and graphic design.
Humboldt was also the first, in 1817, to use isotherms, the lines on weather maps that connect different geographical points with the same temperature. Until then, global temperatures had been collected and compared already, but the data had been presented in long lists, making it difficult to compare. Due to Humboldt’s visualization, one look at the isotherm map revealed patterns around the world. It made the difference between looking at weather and looking at the global climate.
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If this has made you curious about Humboldt, I highly recommend The Invention of Nature by Andrea Wulf. Or, if you want it more light and amusing, Measuring the World by Daniel Kehlmann is an exquisite fictionalization of Humboldt’s journey.
“If you are going to be pick-pocketed or mugged in Brazil, Salvador is likely to be the place,”
says the Lonely Planet guide on South America.
“Don’t take anything with you when you walk around Salvador. No watch, no expensive phone, no cards, no jewelry, not even fake jewelry,”
the lady from the cruise line Pullmantur had warned on the ship before we disembarked in Salvador, scaring some of the passengers into staying on board.
Well, nothing happened to me during two weeks in Salvador, although I lived in a neighborhood that some people called dangerous, I usually walked around alone, also late at night, I went into dark alleys, I looked white and foreign, I didn’t speak Portuguese, I was wearing a watch, khaki pants and a white or blue shirt, I had a camera with me which I often carried openly, and whenever I was lost, I took out my tablet to check the GPS.
I was never assaulted, mugged or robbed, but I noticed two things happening over and over: First, Brazilians would look at me in disbelief, particularly if I was in some dark alley at night, they would look at my camera, look at me again and I could notice the “Oh my god, this guy is so stupid to walk around like this” in their eyes. Second, people called at me from their windows or balconies to not go down that way or this way, either signalling with their hands or shouting “dangerous!”. That was very caring and nice.
There is a lot of standard advice on how to behave if you get mugged:
Often, this advice comes from people who did get robbed, though, so how much can their advice be worth? Obviously, it’s bullshit. Actually, it’s not only bullshit, but it’s dangerous advice. If Europeans and North Americans repeat this mantra of “don’t resist when you get robbed in Latin America,” of course the gangsters will prefer to attack people who are obviously tourists. “Haha, these gringos, they don’t even fight back. It’s like robbing little children, hahaha!” you can imagine the bandits laughing while having a drink after a successful day. Telling people to not resist muggers is like putting a huge “Rob me!” sign on top of their heads.
As the expert in not getting robbed, let me give you my advice:
To summarize this: Don’t look scared. Don’t look like a victim. If you don’t have natural confidence, watch a James Bond film before you go out, observe the way he walks and imitate it.

But even then, the worst-case scenario may happen. So here is my advice in case you do get robbed:
Following the argument above, even if you fight and lose, you are making everyone else safer by removing the myth that tourists are docile victims.
When you visit Albania – which I highly recommend – you should not only get a guidebook, but read a few books by Ismail Kadare during your trip. Of the ones I have read so far, I enjoyed The File on H the most.
As in all of his novels, Ismail Kadare takes historical facts and fictionalizes them, in the course teaching you something about Albanian history and culture, but without the book losing its quality as a novel. All of his books made me want to research more about the underlying factual elements. The question in The File on H is the Homeric Question, that is the dispute about the identity of Homer and about the origin of his tales.
The main protagonists are Milman Parry and Albert Lord, two American academics who really went to the Balkans between 1933 and 1935 to find local bards, preferably illiterate ones to focus on the oral tradition, and to record their renditions on the just-invented tape recorder. They intended to research how the ballads changed over time to understand the process of Homer’s work. Although they traveled in Bosnia, they mostly interviewed Albanian bards. After Parry’s death, Lord returned to Albania and traveled through the northern mountains – the atmosphere of which is conveyed beautifully in the book – where foreigners traveling with a huge tape recorder, which had never been seen in that part of the world before, naturally aroused suspicion.

This was just the microphone.
And thus the story turns into an espionage novel, a novel about politics, about preservation of culture and about the fear of the unknown. The reports of one of the spies for the governor are a literary delight, almost like a novella inside a novel.
The only point of criticism is that once the Serbian monk talks to the Albanian hermit, the end is foreseeable. But then, that’s just realistic, because the end of any Serbian-Albanian discussion is foreseeable to this day.
Usually, I don’t like dogs. If the dogs aren’t extremely stupid, they notice that and leave me alone.
But when I was stranded in Copacabana during my move from Bolivia to Peru, and when I thought that I had lost all of my luggage, including my notebooks, my computer and thus the stories and photos of the last few years, and was despairingly scribbling the account of this major mishap into the last remaining notebook, this dog came by and laid down next to my legs.

“I lost everything I own, but gained a new friend,” I thought. Luckily, the disaster cleared up a few hours later. The dog moved on, unfaithful as they are.
When you adorn your house with $-signs, but put up a note that it’s not for sale.

Photographed in Avenida 6 de Agosto in La Paz, Bolivia.
This wouldn’t fly in Germany because someone would scream “violation of privacy” and lawsuits would ensue, but in Bolivia

and in Romania,

there are lists in the entrance hall of apartment complexes showing the tenants’ names and what they respectively owe for utilities.
In Romania, all of my neighbors could thus see how economically I used electricity, gas and water. But it was very practical that I could pay to the friendly lady in apartment no. 7, who had her office at the kitchen table, and who gave me a huge plate of cookies when it was time to say good-bye after one year in Târgu Mureș.


Bolivia must have negotiated the best intellectual property treaties of any country in the world (only Iran comes close, but that country is not a party to the Berne Convention). Respect to the hot-shot lawyers who did that!
In Bolivia, you can get any movie on DVD on the same day it is released in cinemas worldwide. Sometimes even before the release date!
The distribution occurs in a decentralized manner, through self-employed vendors who carry boxes of DVDs to street corners or who sell the films out of the trunk of their car. Amazing how Bolivia could negotiate the right for its small businesses to take over the distribution, when the big Hollywood studies usually want to control everything.

Each DVD costs around one dollar per film. Compare that with movie tickets or the prices on Amazon, and it’s another miraculous deal negotiated by Bolivia.
On top of that, the service is impeccable. There is something called DVD-on-demand: if your local vendor doesn’t have the film you want, you write the title on a piece of paper, hand it to him and tomorrow – same place, same time – he has the desired movie for you. This shows that even the mom-and-pop outlets have excellent connections to all distributors worldwide.

Photographed in Copacabana on the shore of Lake Titicaca in Bolivia.