After the Schengen agreement, most of these old checkpoints remain abandoned and out of service, allowing us to gaze into the past from the present. It causes many reflections, specially in a moment that EU project it is severely discussed.

These places that previously the Schengen treaty, delimited territories and in which the traveler had to stop and show his documents, currently appear as abandoned places, located in a space-time limbo, out of use and out of the time for which they were designed, as these states have opened their borders to the free movement of people.

Border crossings have a function of geographical boundaries, but also an coercitive role, since they prevent the free passage of people between one and another state. So, they are places that, along with a cartographic dimension, are provided with historical, economic and political reminiscences.

These old border crossing points are slowly disappearing; some are renovated and reconverted to new uses, some are destroyed for vandals, and some other just fall down due to the passing of time. So, after some few years there will be no possibility to look at this strong signs and symbols of the recent european history.

Abbreviations:

H - Hungary;

A - Austria;

PL - Poland;

CZ - Czech Republic;

E - Spain (España);

F - France;

P - Portugal.

—

Author of text and all the photos is Ignacio Evangelista. More about him you can find on his website.

Among the many items sold at the market are dried llama fetuses that are said to bring both prosperity and good luck, dried frogs used for Aymara rituals, soapstone figurines, aphrodisiac formulas, owl feathers, dried turtles and snakes, herbs, and folk remedies. Witch doctors in dark hats and dresses wander through the market offering fortune-telling services.

The dried llama fetuses are the most prominent product available at the market. These animals are fairly large and are used throughout the country, buried in the foundations of new buildings as an offering to the goddess Pachamama. It is believed that the buried llama fetuses keep construction workers safe, but these are only used by poor Bolivians. Wealthy Bolivians usually sacrifice a living llama to Pachamama.

—

The article originally published on atlasobscura.com

Street dentist Surinder Singh, 67, from Ludhiana, in the eastern state of Punjab, is a school dropout but learned the dentist trade from his father. He's now been in this business for 40 years. He said: "A few decades ago I had 15 patients a day but now it's three or four a week. I make around 2,500 Rs (32€) a month. Now a days only the poorest of the poor come to see me. They cannot afford these expensive clinics but they deserve to be treated too so thank god they have people like me."

Patients have to pay 50 Rs (65c) for a tooth extraction and 150 Rs (2€) for a new tooth. A new set of dentures will cost 1,500 Rs (20€) and comes with a one-year guarantee. There's no consultation fee. But patients take a huge risk. The drills, tweezers and pliers are never sterilized, only washed in disinfectant at the end of the day. And Surinder uses a hand held torch for light if a patient comes after dusk.

Any tooth extraction is done without anesthesia; they're just fed some painkillers after to cope with the pain. Surinder added: "We take extreme care in treating patients. We are equally skillful to high-end clinics. I have been doing this for 40 years and none of my patients have ever complained. I buy the teeth from reputable companies and so they're the real thing."

There is no official ban on roadside dental clinics in India but the Indian Medical Association, an elite body of qualified medical practitioners, have been demanding a law on street practice for many years. But for customers like Sushant Singh, 48, a labourer, the hospitals and private dental clinics are too costly. He said: "I earn 125 rupees a day and can just about afford to pay 150 Rs for fixing my tooth. The government hospitals do not have dentists and private clinics charge exorbitant fees. If there's no street dentist where will a poor man like me go?" he asks.

—

The article originally published on dailymail.co.uk

The article adapted by The Travel Club editorial staff.

For more interesting illustrations visit Emma's website: www.emmafick.com.

The landscape was truly breathtaking, words cannot do it justice. Check out my photos instead... see for yourself.

—

To find out more about Scott's adventures, follow him on his Facebook page Travelstache.

All photography by Rita Willaert

These rare photographs of the village belong to a dedicated Flickr user Rita Willaert who traveled to Tiébélé in 2009 (see all her photos of the village here). The village keeps itself extremely isolated and closed to outsiders, most likely to ensure the conservation and integrity of their structures and to protect the local traditions.  There is interest in developing the site as a cultural tourism destination to generate economic resources for conservation but it is a delicate process.

Travel blogger, Olga Stavrakis from TravelwithOlga.com also visited the site in 2009 and recalls her visit. She writes:

... It was only through a process of year long negotiations that we were permitted to enter the royal palace the entrance of which is pictured here. They were awaiting us and the grand old men of the village, the nobility, were all seated waiting for us. Each of the villages has muslims and animists (local religions) and no one much cares who believes in what. However, we were told in advance that we must not wear anything red and we may not carry an umbrella. Only the chiefly noble family is permitted that privilege and to do so would constitute a great affront to our hosts...

A royal residence in West Africa is not what we might think of when we imagine royal palaces. In Tiébélé, the Cour Royale is made up of a series of small mud brick structures inside a compound, covered with natural clay paints in elaborate geometric patterns to differentiate them from the homes of the common people.

The chief's house has the smallest door for protection.

Olga and her group were even granted access to the interiors of the structures and found that even in a palace compound, the kitchen is simple, differing only from the rest of the kitchens in West Africa by the presence of a few extra clay and iron pots.

"Most meals are cooked in one pot over a brazier," explains Olga, "There is little cutting and preparation required. They generally make a starch foofoo or thick paste like porridge which is then dipped into a sauce of vegetables and peppers. The richer the family the more goes into the sauce. Foofoo is made of cassava, yam, plantain, or corn."

Some of the most elaborately decorated houses however are not actually living quarters but mausoleums for the dead, who are laid to rest in the same compound.  The photograph by Rita Willaert below is an example of one of the village mausoleums.

Some of the art is symbolic while a lot of it is purely decoration– all a result of the traditional skills of the isolated Kassena culture. DIY Level: 1000!

See dozens more photos of the village by Rita Willaert and read more about Olga's account of her tour around the village on Travel with Olga.

—

The article originally published on www.messynessychic.com.

Camille was a passionate traveler, and today we bring to you one of her photo-stories, released in EMAJ magazine last year.

These photographs Camille Lepage took in the Nuba Mountains in South Sudan. She witnessed a miracle of birth in one refugee camp. However, comparing to mothers in other countries, mothers in South Sudan have the smallest chance of surviving the childbirth.

Leistner applied his particular vision as an architectural photographer to Pyongyang, North Korea, and Seoul, South Korea, in 2006, and 2012 respectively, to capture the apparent dichotomy between the two places. Although not all pairs are exact comparisons, they have much to communicate with their interaction, and it is immediately apparent which is north and which is south with most pairs. Leistner, who grew up in Germany, has a unique view of this divided nation, coming from a country divided as recently as 25 years ago, seems a distant, unfathomable memory.

—

Originally published on www.featureshoot.com.

The article was adapted by The Travel Club editorial staff.

A 2.7-hectare enclave of opium parlours, whorehouses and gambling dens run by triads, it was a place where police, health inspectors and even tax collectors feared to tread. In Cantonese, it was known as the City of Darkness.

But though it may have been a fetid slum, crawling with rats and dripping with sewage, it was stoutly defended to the last by those who lived there, as well as an unlikely ensemble of Chinese shopkeepers, faith healers and self-taught dentists. It was once thought to be the most densely populated place on earth, with 35,000 people crammed into a few tiny apartment blocks and more than 300 interconnected high-rise buildings, all constructed without contributions from a single architect.

But in March 1993, the last batch of residents finally accepted the government's rehousing terms and compensation terms. It brought down the final curtain on a bizarre chapter of Hong Kong's colonial past. Ask former residents what they miss most about the Walled City and most say the friendship.

In the 1960s, the Heung family of six moved from a rooftop hut in Hung Hom to the Walled City. 

click on the image to zoom

At first they lived in a 70 sq ft room in a two-storey house near Tung Tau Chuen Road, which they shared with seven other families. Several years later they moved to a two-bedroom flat on the fourth floor of a high-rise on Tai Cheng Street.

"Life was poor, but we were very happy," said Heung Yin-king, the eldest daughter.

"We had the best times in the first house, even though the rooms were so tiny there wasn't space for a dinner table.

"We ate from a board laid over the knitting machine and sat on the bed. Everyone got along, and it was great to have so many kids to play with.

"The second house was all right but had no taps, so as the eldest daughter I had the responsibility of hauling buckets of water from the public taps up four floors to the flat every day. That's why I'm so short!"

The history of the Kowloon Walled City dates from the Sung Dynasty of 960-1297, when it began as a small fort to house the imperial soldiers who controlled the salt trade. In the second half of the 19th century, the Chinese were facing invasion by the British, who held Hong Kong Island. So they expanded it into a proper garrison town containing soldiers, officials and their families.

In 1898, it became the only part of Hong Kong that China was unwilling to cede to Britain under the 99-year lease of Kowloon and the New Territories. The British agreed that China could keep the Walled City until the colonial administration for the area was established. But China never dropped its claim of jurisdiction and the sovereignty fight remained unresolved. The result was that it became a lawless enclave and a hotbed of criminal activity.

In December 1899, after several unsuccessful attempts to clear the city, the British announced their jurisdiction was to be extended to include it and the Chinese officials left. The city became isolated. While parts were leased to church-run, charitable institutions, much was left to fall into disrepair. By 1940 only the Lung Chun School, its gateway and one private home remained.

When the Japanese invaded in the second world war, they demolished the oldest standing part of the Walled City - its wall, used in work on Kai Tak airport. But the destruction didn't prevent Chinese refugees flocking to the site after the war. Rents were low, and there were no concerns about taxes, visas or licences. By 1947 there were 2,000 squatter camps on the site. Permanent buildings followed, and by 1971, 10,000 people occupied 2,185 dwellings.

By the late 1980s, it was home to 35,000 people. The government tried to clear the city several times, but on each occasion the residents threatened to create a diplomatic incident. Their attitude - handy when it came to keeping the noses of the authorities out of their business - was that the city was part of China and would never belong to Hong Kong. And to avoid damaging Sino-British relations, the government adopted a largely hands-off policy towards it. The city again became a hotbed of criminal activity. Opium dens, heroin stands, brothels and dog restaurants all multiplied in the '50s and '60s, with police usually turning a blind eye. There were three reasons for that - the police were politically hamstrung, some were bribed and it was too dangerous. Real power lay with the triads. But the position changed in the '70s, when a wave of anti-corruption campaigns removed most criminal elements in the authorities. No longer protected, the triads became weaker.

The height of the Walled City rose with the rest of Hong Kong. In the 1950s, housing usually consisted of wooden and stone low-rises. In the '60s, concrete buildings of four or five storeys appeared. And in the '70s, many were replaced by blocks of 10 storeys or more. The site became chaotically cramped, with buildings so close to each other that in some it was impossible to open a window. Low rents also meant many small factories, with toys, plastic goods and food among the biggest products. The factories may have brought their owners decent incomes, but they also brought more rubbish, fire hazards and pollution to the city. Limited interference by the authorities also meant limited welfare. Apart from basic municipal services such as rubbish collection, residents had to rely on each other to maintain living conditions. That bred a close-knit community of people willing to support each other.

The Walled City's fate was finally decided in January 1987, when the government announced plans to demolish it. After an arduous eviction process, demolition began in March 1993 and was completed in April 1994. Kowloon Walled City Park opened on the site in December 1995. But some artefacts from the Walled City, including its Yamen building, remain. This was built in the early 1800s and served as a military headquarters. Remnants of its South Gate have also been preserved.

But while it has been demolished, memories of the Walled City - and its spirit - still live on in the hearts of many Hongkongers. It could be argued that today we have lost some of the sense of community and social solidarity that could once be seen there.

Growing up, Albert Ng Kam-po and his friends would go to the roof and fly kites that could almost scrape the bellies of airliners as they descended to Kai Tak Airport across the street.

"We didn't know it was so dangerous," says Ng, 45, a pastor at the English-speaking Island Evangelical Community Church in Quarry Bay.

"We'd just play ping-pong in the hallway. The kids would go up onto the roofs and leap from building to building, or we would drag discarded mattresses to the roof and jump on them. It was a happy time."

Ida Shum a 62-year-old former resident now living in Hung Hom, agreed that the some of the worst and poorest people in Hong Kong lived there. She said it was a haven for triad groups such as the 14K and Sun Yee On, who jealously controlled their territory. But she also said there was much more to the Walled City than that. She remembered how when it was raining, the street was nearly always flooded. Water would rise to people's knees with trash floating around, but the residents just walked through it in their bare feet. No problem, no matter how difficult, could be overcome. Shum described how her neighbour always helped her take care of her children and they cooked for each other. This allowed her to focus on her work and earn money to feed her family.

"We all had very good relationships in very bad conditions. Even now, many people stay in touch with each other even though some old friends are overseas," Shum said.

"People who lived there were always loyal to each other. In the Walled City, the sunshine always followed the rain."

—

Text and all photos are taken from www.scmp.com.